Stale and zoned, white, blue, black masked

No faces worth renown here, a thankless task

All dissent expressed in the turn of a key

All reflections blurred in bright glass and steel

Particulars stored in bland files and drawers

And the tweed-clad march through endless doors

Grey sky no novelty, fires on the corners

Paths in the parks burn cold as the night turns

High-rise and criss-crossed, lines and shadows

Projected through sun-beams, lost in the windows