Untrue

Here we are: New York, New York,

apparently.

Where there is no truth,

where there is no reality,

endless movie

crowded with characters

uninhabited

haven’t seen a single person,

haven’t met a single being.

They all sound the same,

they all ring out of their windows.

-I do sound out of mine,

I can even hear yours-

The same shine in our lights,

twinkling.

The same cold in our feet.

Here we are,

at least, sometimes

New York, New York

Where am I, though?

There will be no goodbye

as they never greeted,

it was impossible,

it was unnecessary,

it might have been desired,

though it wasn’t:

already cold,

already summer.