Slinking toward a crowded, anonymous bar,
willing my heartbeat to have constancy,
tasting only salt and my trembling pulse,
all the way down, while
swooping through the scenes-
beautiful skinny-hipped Asian women,
drunken lurching rich city hipsters,
my hair flying around my face like flower petals.
I wish for home, fucking or exquisite beauty.
Will I find a scrap of hope
in the midst of this city blooming
children who have no eyes?
The train stops often
and refills by the minute/
my fellow adventurers become
skinnier and harder, younger
angels waiting under streetlights,
half-moon eyes and heavy smiles.
January 1st, 2005, New York City,
Center of the Universe,
Land of the Periphery,
an ominously sunny sixty degrees.
My head aches,
my mouth is ash,
my heart yearns.
I bleed all over,
my eyes streining to blue,
light shining from my pores,
Product of Love,
testimony of passion,
a teardrop on an eyelash,
a whisper in my wine glass,
collect you all and scatter you
all over the streets,
to travel in the breeze
all the way to infinity.
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