City Streets
T Tom Billsborough
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This is the City primeval with the murderous jams and the gridlock.
Canyons of noise, and yet silent souls, grey shadows of the twilight.
Stand the tall buildings, commanding obedience but rarely aesthetic,
Standing in blocks, like poker chips stacked, prepared for the gambles of humans.
Loud, loud the commuting traffic, conducted by lights, its discordant music,
Streams of metallic light sweeping the lonely to distant lonely suburbs.
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