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Hotel in Chinatown

The neon lights of Ocean City
finally became, for me,

a marvelous thing.  While traffic
raced the battered street below

sirens sang—even as existence
spooled unabated, plaintive,

conspicuous, the night was dirty
and fouled with dross and oddments.

Yet, I went outside amongst
the Chinese and the expatriated,

walking that immigrant street
beneath a towering and steadfast moon.

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