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Saturday, October 24, 2009

NYC Insomnia

by Lorene Farnsworth


Wired in a city lit up like a prison yard—

With a night so bright that morning is a release.

Wrong number Australia calls to say good day and asks if people really live in NYC.

Well, I don’t know—maybe they don’t, I haven’t met a neighbor in five years.

Were you to leave a message, they’ll be here in the morning—

Maybe they could call you back on their lunch break.

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