Lean out and contemplate the Empire State.
After all, there's nothing else left to you.
The spider-web paths of the city
Branch out too often to form the whole
picture in your head more than a few
stems out.

Where do your lost hours go?
Is there a heaven for the good ones?
The ones you spend reading Harry Potter
in Spanish?
As if it's really so much better than reading
trash like 1Q84 or Plato's Republic
for 1200 page-intervals of excess language or
A bunch of questionable assertions
backing up logical conclusions on the most essential questions,
Respectively.

When I sit with the bright light in my eyes,
it triggers the breakdown of melatonin molecules in
my blood,
Among other things.
Will this restore my Brooklyn Majesty
in swells of lightwave tides
Or will it lack the broad spectrum necessary
to push my half-developed form out of the tidal pool
to make a swim amongst
frail men in shark suits?

He Walked through the long corridor
of Green Park tube station.
There was a strong backdraft
that pushed him from behind.  

He entered the train heading westbound
to Russel Square, on the Picadilly line.
It was packed with every kind of person
imaginable--the weird, schoolkids,
the bankers, tourists, parents with babies
and then there was her.  
She had shoulder-length brown hair.
She was slim, pale and had piercing green eyes.
She was wearing khaki chinos
with a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt.  
A black choker on her neck and holding
a book.
Murakami's 1Q84.

The same book he was reading.
There was a hush in the air
as their look lingered for several seconds.
She looked at him, smiled and lifted
her eyebrows.  

He looked at her and said,
"If you can't understand what just happened now
without explanation,
then you won't understand it
with an explanation."
She smiled and remembered the line in the book.

You had fallen asleep. I guess so. Your breathing is smooth, if I could touch your breath, if I could touch the nightfall outside, the sensation would be the same. I no longer throw a fit for not receiving attention. I used to, but you had said, "Don't tell me that humans should treat each other equally. That's Utopic." At that time I told you to cease talking to me for two days. However the same afternoon you texted me your thoughts after reading 1Q84 (you emphasize you finished it in a week, twice the speed of me), and I accidentally forgave you. I still loathe those words, yet I grudgingly let it influence me.

"Am I kidding? I hate you," I say, pushing you off my bed and onto the ground. You sleep like a corpse. The bugs outside cease colliding into the window after the lights are off, remaining the bumptiously round moon. I imagine myself as Aomame, stepping into an alternate universe with two moons. I squint my eyes, maybe I'll see two that way. The orbed moon becomes clearer. I might be too near-sighted.

"You're too stupid. You have to space out to see two moons." Your voice comes from the ground. I pretend not to hear you but I try anyway. I really do see two moons.