Last night's debauchery is washed away.
   The front stoop drenched in morning light.
   Blood fades into a stain that looks like Jesus
   with a wink and smile. That happens in Queens.

   I wake from dark dreams in a room deluged
   in sunlight so bright I'm blind to my ugly
   truths from last night. I could eat a horse.
   I find the diner. That happens in Manhattan.

   The heat is long shut off and I light Sterno
   to melt some ice for a spot of English tea.
   Sunlight won't come this far north past 96th st.
   It knows better. This happens in East Harlem.