walking in ny

A creaky heart
with each inhale and exhale
is a twig holding the
full
red belly of a
little bird that travels nocturnally

Walking past the bar that looks
like a 1920’s gathering
with its yellow round bulbs
decorative and dark borders

The trash on the sidewalk
seems to have come together
through serendipity
for the pleasure of
the moonlight, the streetlight
and the rain from earlier

Treasure from this angle

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and then it started raining

Before boarding the plane
my step-dad gave me some sudden advice
“Don’t accept free food samples”
I suppose being poisoned
is a fear that I had yet to acquire

but at last here it is

I sipped from a glass of wine
elegantly placed
between a marble statue and concrete

on the third sip, I found myself upstate
in the closing part of winter

there I was, staring at the ceiling fan
trying to convince the man in the red wool sweater
to paint over
all of the thin black lines
I had painted on their door

gratefully sad

The more shit that happens,
the stronger (softer) I become.

I have to go take this face mask off
and brush my teeth

remember that it is all
temporary

every interaction
I had with that person
felt like I was cycling
through all of the emotions

every single one
in the speed of light

thrown into black hole,
and shot out of a cannon,

Lines that are reoccuring
written down

Anywhere but here

I sit in blank,
with no wording.

Language is what’s lost.
What I need is another,
mood,
another,
state.

Perhaps, I should leave the country,
and acquire a new vocabulary.

How lovely,
to write poetry,
from a charming french cafe.

For now, this empty,
soulless,
Starbucks will
do.
The jazz like rhythm
I yearn for,
will have to come through music.
And the muse,

anywhere but here.