Wisps of clouds string the sky
like leftover party streamers --
New York rules dictate all
beauty must appear effortless.
You climb through mirrored
capsules onto clear glass
while several floors below
they really do come and go
gawking at Michelangelo.
It is 2012 and there are costumes
by Dali in the basement,
an overwhelming greatness
to let you know that sometimes
immortality gets it right.
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