[To hear my reading of this poem, you can visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=757IZDfihJU&t=9s]

Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of ******* dealers,
And the ***** and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars faintly glowing through acrid smog.

After dark haven for muggers, rapists, other fiends,
Whose breath profanes the very species
They so poorly represent,
Degenerating Platonic men and women,
Into dead, plucked chickens.

Abomination. Horrid not in itself, but for the use it’s put to:
A bone thrown to dogs who’ve never tasted steak,
And are only too pleased to feast,
Upon the remnants of fetid meat,
Clinging to well-gnawed bones.

Central Park, the bone we are to chew,
While smiling complacently at skyscrapers,
Daily rising where flowers might have grown,
Our humanity sinking in proportion,
To the heights they reach.

If I seem narrow minded and unkind,
Or blind to the brighter side of Central Park,
It is because I’ve stood on ****** ground,
In summer, winter, fall and early spring,
And cannot bring myself to love a *****.