Headache of a girl
stepping on sobbing floorboards,
rusty pipes and lonely nights.
I start my own fires,
tend to sweat out kerosene.

Rinse myself with ***** water
dripping from cracks above.
Break open a window-
smoggy air love, right hand slug.

You’re still sound asleep,
yet I stand in the city
interrupted by sirens
and memories of you.

What a pity.

If you’ve ever struggled to keep your eyes fixed
on two passing ships as they drift
onto opposite directions,
then you have a sense
of what it is like
to walk in New York City.
The city of old and new,
a close knit community of loners striving
even at failure.
Yet, the afternoon skies are honest,
gray and bright.
There’s warmth still
to be found on cold nights,
all sorts
come alive on that cement island of lights