Forty-First Floor
stranger
in a strange city
peers out
from a glass pane
of a forty-first floor
hotel room
down at a busy
evening avenue;
neon-lit,
the world below
seems to pulsate
in every direction,
throbbing,
vibrating
in a motorized
frenzy
of means
and of ends,
same everywhere
as anywhere,
the ultimate purpose,
it seems,
is still somewhere near
nowhere.
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