new york is dead

Lulling along
Truth so obscure
In cocaine city
In Manhattan scenes
At book signings …

Motorcades
Train waiting
Placating
Until someone
Something
Pulls us from here
And brings us there …

And there
Is somewhere
And someone
May be waiting
Placating
On the other side
Of Grand Central Station
As I hunker
Hood over head
Pad out
Scribbling thoughts
Rolling across
Empty page
Words that will
Never be read …

Or if read
Misunderstood
So why write?
And why sit?
And why even
Go outside ???

Autumn night
On walk from park
Came down hard
Light gone …

No fade like Ohio tornado …

Looked around
At blank stares
And everyone trying
Not to look at you
But they all do …

And everyone is dead
Walking death
I smell and I see
Dead soldiers
Of daily wars
And to be true
Is to be subordinate
To risk getting jailed
Put in brig …

So you hide
Go underground
And subways become
A home
And sidewalks scream
Alone.

And maybe the buildings
That fell five years ago
Were a way to make
Stares go skyward
Then to ground
Then up again
But we all kept moving
Pretending not to look
And so God has left …

Manhattan is dead
Perfect breasts and chiseled chests
Pass and I glance
I blatantly stare
My peaceful eyes
Have died tonight …

And as autumn creeps in
I become my season
I am one with weather
I am one with city
I am dead
Walking, but dead …

To station marble
Where I sit
And scribble
And die.