Day Nineteen: ‘Big Nose At The Hudson’

April 19, 2013

A faded morning in the park. Stark machinery

of city pulsing in running shoes and dogs

on leash. Strange helicopters. He doesn’t belong here —

worn hands passing over a coke bottle,

a strip of dirty lip hair, a slum look.

 

How do you do, New York? The steel trot

of rogues swelling into asphalt soup alarms.

Billboard blue eyes and genuine dreams become

butlers, coatmen. Small fees accrue in pockets.

Rank, noisy glee dissolves a stop away.

 

New York does well enough alone.

Exit on rigged wing motors and the bride won’t weep.

No lost loves in a ballroom town of marble

and endless casanova. On a ship,

in a stare, in a dream, a face — all remains sunk.

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