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I dreamt we were in New York City

I dreamt we were in New York City
with the steel carts and high rises
all shivering in the cold.
Alone in tandem
with the dim, satin sky, and the leftover snow.
Maybe a hand in mine,
it can be hard to see
without the stars.
What does it matter though?

I dreamt we were in the Amazon
with the birds and the wildcats.
They sang and roamed
and fucked and died.
With the fires and the bulldozers
making paper mache emotions,
advertisements on billboards
and TV and my doorstep
but still, I believe in it.

I dreamt we were someplace
amongst photographs and books
full of fantastic stories
profoundly boring.
With the songs and the stars
staring down at us,
not an ounce of judgment in their eyes.
Staring down at everyone
but mostly us.
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