Stepping into the muggy haze of 14th street
I was overwhelmed by the stench of food trucks and fruit stands,
hoping you would not rot in this climate.
hoping you would not rot in this climate.
I paused to listen to a charming harmonica player
who reminded me of Bob Dylan,
hoping you wouldn't be disillusioned by such men.
Purring men who graffiti, "will you marry me,"
over the "Post No Bill," signs
and then carry you over the threshold
of a fall out shelter they call home.
I want to chain you to my rib cage,
like the rusty bikes with no wheels
that are trapped on sidewalks.
I want to make you my eternal gargoyle,
preserve your no-moss mind,
and feed you with shelves of $2 used books.
But your slipping like the L train,
sliding from avenue to avenue
quicker than my feet can take me.
Sitting on a bench in Union Square
I stare at the Metronome
thinking about the passage of 8584 days.
You are indeed the worlds most confusing clock...
fifteen big digital numbers
ticking farther and farther away from me each day.
A red cross blood bank truck has been moaning on the corner
but no one is in line...
I want to ask them if they can extract a pint
of mother from my veins
in case someone hurts you
and I'm too far away
to do a love transfusion.
There is a tree that stands proud
in the middle of the street,
harassed daily, from every angle,
by this city's moist hum...
I watch the traffic bleed in front of my eyes
hoping I planted my seeds of knowledge
deep enough in the soil of your mind
to keep you rooted in this harsh climate.
