The tiles are ugly
Until I remember
That they have been here
Longer than I have
They hold whispers
From the homeless
The musicians
And the homeless musicians
The tiles at second ave
Hold sighs
From late trains
Or trains that never came
At fourteenth
They hold angry stares
From pedestrians who know better
They should’ve left
Ten minutes earlier
West fourth holds calls from beggars
Begging the men in Oxford shoes
For a spare dollar
Broadway and lafayette
Always sees that same man
With a “free hugs” sign
Penned in sharpie
On cardboard
But no hugs to give
On days I forego earbuds
The city sings back to me
The tiles tell me
You said you would always be in love
But you’re not in love
They tell me
Oh God you miss her too
It’s all you ever do
It has long since been
That I have heard melodies echoed
Throughout the tile and tracks
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