Layers of the City

Twenty-six stories high, I look down to illuminated veins, blinking red and then white; The city is alive, breathing through concrete lungs. Up to the ninth floor. Two glass bottles on the ledge sit empty; The painted walls hold my secrets. On the fifth flat. People flowing in and out, Yet a place for rest. Down to two. Long halls lined with lockers, Laughter, lectures, and languages. The city. Packed gridlocked lanes with blaring horns. The heart of the city, both human and machine, beats constantly.