An alusive light that enters
The windows of a jetliner
A pack of wolves strapped in
And ready for takeoff

And I—amongst them, their own—
Fly to an unknown destination
There I sit—reclined, yet tense—
As the flight weighs on my soul

The howls overtake the aircraft
As the moon arrives and makes
Its sultry—and swift—anticipated entry
But there I see no more stars

They vanished—one by one,
Who am I?—Who is manning this
Aircraft—and I wake,
To a cup of coffee and a biscuit

I have landed—that at least,
But no amount of luggage
That passes by my aged eyes
Are mine—yet all yours

I look frantic—as I seek you,
But then I remember—
As you vanish in the distance,
Your memory is all I brought with me

Paradise, 2018

the empty shopping mall
that we both now occupy;
dismantle—slowly—the lights,
succumb to its tender darkness

the hollow shells of money making
now reduced to bitter nothing;
run—tirelessly—through them,
their youth fleeting; long departed

Fake romanesque paintings
Columns so bold, yet hollow
Lights, signs, storefronts
They all paint my city
So cryptic and plastic—

Where small plastic chips
Make and break you—
Where big brother watches you
And your hash-lined pants
From all 5,182 cameras above

Home, a place not like a home
Where the masses flee their constraints
And drink, and shop—
And where, here—
They play the most danergous game

the white of your eyes polished;
blade, so perfectly placed
as i beg you to take me;
release me from this existence

I traverse the somber night
Gone; alone with the wind—
The music that is your voice
Guides, aimlessly, amongst the concrete

And in this aimless state
I try to occupy myself with
The sound of pedestrians,
Trains, buses and taxis galore

But you still remain distanced
and I—infatuated with steel—
Reclaim the civility of New York
To keep for my own—solitary

And in my selfish practice
I find you, beautifully alone—
Depraved of myself,
And devoid of your own—

Paradise, 2018

I catch a glimpse of you
Through what’s left of that bottle—
Flavor—nothing I’d ask,
The burn and grimace still the same—

Your inverted image slips away
So tender, innocent and new—
The shade of the dangerous liquid
Painted you so tall and golden—

And there I continue and drink;
Trying to get a taste of you—

Paradise, 2018

She wears the worn lives of her past,
It graces her skin, so delicate and rare—
Though still, she moves elegant and fair
Her hinderance still her most punishable trait—