I’ll never have time for these bland, dusty halls

That border my stumbles and cold, quickened paces

Six crusty buildings and three loving calls

Then a tube on a rail moving ten thousand faces

 

Under stories and stories of friends sharing stories

Cockroaches and dachshunds wait for stylized tenants

To sleep in the wake of their effortless glories

In a city so tall it has moved on from pennants

 

More than two hundred years has created a labyrinth

Made from mountains of glass that are thick like long femurs

In the air her torch is an old shimmery synth

Making colorful chords for the ships holding dreamers

 

There is life in the boroughs and bricks looking on,

I am breathing in the palm of a hand up at dawn


Patrick McGovern is a junior studying English and entrepreneurship. He hopes to eventually work in entertainment law after years of creating and distributing literary and visual works from Brophy College Preparatory in Phoenix, Arizona, as well as at Penn State.