i can hear each drop of rain smack the hard concrete
hundreds of them, one after the other, i am surrounded
by them. swat the fly away from my merlot and take a sip
so many raindrops, i smell them in the air, thick and heavy
my mind wants for nothing except more wine and the company of
the one person who makes me feel
normal
accepted
exhilarated
adventurous
the wind picks up, the rain falls, i can feel the droplets in the air. the flies are persistent, they can smell the wine and it draws them closer until it kills them, and they float in it upside down in circles. i see myself
floating
upside down
in circles
watching my life slip away
as the wine drains away
it pulses with the beat
until there is no more
the flies are gone
the cup is empty
the rain falls
but there is
only silence

how many millennials have sat on
east village stoops
wearing thick rimmed glasses
reading intelligent books
and smoking fine cigarets
and asked the question
what is love  
only to regurgitate some
half digested vomitus
about oneness and spirituality

what is love other than a feeling,
the feeling of never wanting to be without
You

feels like slow motion death
the constant rhythm of my feet
outpaced only by my racing heart
i imagine i could be drowning right now
or maybe falling down a cliff
at least then i would be closer to nature
that feels like an honorable way to die
but no
im here on a treadmill running in place
surrounded by others who suffer their fate
with more dignity than i

my thoughts are everywhere.
racing around my brain like
a flock of pigeons.
i exist within a vortex of my own consciousness,
thoughts and debris flying in every direction,
too fast to fully recognize.
i feel like a walking hurricane
with emotions that rage from one end of the spectrum
to the other.
i feel like everyone else is taking cover,
just trying not to get ****** in.

a woman stands in the median
on washington avenue
waiting for the traffic to cease
so she can cross the street
wearing a floral dress that
hangs off her round belly
her cardigan flapping in the wind
the bag in her hand full of groceries
she watches each car pass
and crosses the street when its cleared
and she walks off into the distance
moving slowly down the sidewalk
before taking a left several blocks down
and i wonder
in the morning
when she puts on her hose
and looks at the purple lines
on her legs
does she remember that little girl
who wanted to play the flute in 6th grade?