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.