Looking at 432 Park Avenue from 139th Street
The ideology of a clear day: stoop, peasants stoop,
respect your elders and your in the know betters,
we are the height of it all, the summit and the pinnacle
rolled into one and stacked, floor upon floor,
we see farther than you all, so trust us
there is no better perspective, no better view waiting
The ideology of a rainy day: see? Nature's reign
is hollow, it washes off, no wind, no lightning,
no hail, no thunder, no hurricane can stop this tower,
we are more than just a landmark,
the land supports us, the air has to pass on by,
we are a permanent bolt, a constant jolt to your senses
The ideology of a cloudy day: we are the column
and the ladder, we support the heavens above
and we will connect you with our network of seraphim,
the invisible hand arranges us at night
so we may arrange all of you down below,
but don't think of a Babel of access, or we will collapse
The Gethsemane of Downtime
Looking over my want-ad rosaries,
It’s money well spent to use newspapers
Because the worlds of economics
And employment are mysteries
I run the details through my hands,
The experience, the compensation
The ink rubs off and the letters
Appear pressed on the flesh
Another miracle! I tell myself,
This might be the one to apply to
And maybe now I’ll understand
The invisible hand, and what it wants
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