It is cold.
Above me the abyss
The City's ironic glare.
A work of art.
Her rendition of van Gough
Without the subtle strokes.
Below.
Globes, radiant globes.
Worshiped by monoliths.
Stoned architects of the wild.
The rhythm of the night...
It banishes cowardly spirits.
Holstered arias. Bested by beasts.
The sky erupts.
The silence now triumphant.
The pin drop is heard.
A weapon of mass destruction.
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