new york never, new york always

Not every corner is sharp

that’s a lie, aligned

with the breathing and heaving

and the wait.

a traffic signal is a wish

right before you step down -

a game.

if only they fixed one thing…

i wonder which one it would be?

not the the concrete

or the windows reflecting

the bends, the faces, the asses.

the memories, maybe.

the blood on the sidewalk feels

appropriate, gives us a small

distraction from the buzzing,

the lights, the sideways walking,

dodging the tourists. They are

endless.

Eyes are a thing we look with when

it slows down and we want to

find what’s next.

There’s a guy in a car

at a stoplight using his to see me.

So what’s next?

White walking signal and my

feet go again, another block

When every thing is fleeting, flowing, free

how do you ever feel whole?

It’s a card trick. A cheap one.

But the garlic knots are

out of this fucking world.