New York City winter is a muted black & mellow
orange
& the sky becomes orange
& the snow becomes orange
& my skin
orange
under three-starless skies
open
***
he said the city of lost dreams was kinda cute & kinda hopeful and i said it was too desperate too overwhelming but he didn’t care, he was too open & relaxed to give a damn.
we became too much for each other
in New York.
***
i sit alone in a basement
room heated in the depths of November.
outside it was warm like sun
in May & i am
sweltering in this
heat
***
summer edges into spring
driving beads of sweat down
bare backs & grimy heels
(the city soot that dirties
snow is always embedded in the
cracks of my rough black
heels; only thin rubber separates
me from pavement; never ever sit on
sidewalks—trekked with shit &
abandoned dreams)
***
you
jet started my desire for escape for
anything / everything beyond
these
tightly drawn borders in this
cluster of city lights &
city lives
give me
a new kind of new
i need in my twenties
away
***
glacial caps are melting for longer springs
the north pole is drowning
so i can be
flirty
***
a window is the weakest mirror
you see the world outside &
slight hints of yourself
faint & distorted
my skin looks different
& i
become part of what’s out there
***
New York is a city of islands & bigger
islands (but the Bronx is connected to mainland
America) what if we
drifted away
somewhere towards the
equator?
***
seat 24a:
i cram against smeared plastic paned port
window looking down the dirty white
wing that somehow lifts me up into
the air along waves of
heat that strike
New York &
i’m
off
1 comment:
I don't know if you'll see this as it's an older posting...but it is beautiful and it makes me long for the time when I too was brave about my writing.
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