New york is a cunt, a man once told me.
First you see beauty glittering in might
your heart beating in the arms of the moon.
But then as your eyes adjust to the sight
and your fingers separate day from noon
you can see the feasting rats dancing with
junk fueling lives with means to escape
suffocating on an old stripper's tit
hidden beneath the city's golden cape
Then, you hear the sax chant from Alphabet
dispersing the haze of the burning tea
rising above a poet's final set
and though there are other places to see
there is no where else, you would rather be.