new york city and the darkness of winter
Posted on June 29, 2011 with 0 commentsI love to feel the bitter cold winter,
when I have to walk my dogs on icy streets,
and the snow is blowing down my neck like icy splinters,
and the dogs won't pee, 'cause the earth is covered by sleet,
and they cannot smell anything familiar to them,
and my shoes and socks are soaking through,
and my hands feel numb and my nose drips phlegm,
and my 4 horsepower snowblower's sparkplug just blew,
and the tall gaunt shadows of the afternoon sun,
fall against unearthly empty phantom buildings,
where none of my friends live and no friendly faces come,
and I'm tailgated by aggressive cars on the Southern Parkway run,
whose windows are darkened by illegal tint,
when I have to walk my dogs on icy streets,
and the snow is blowing down my neck like icy splinters,
and the dogs won't pee, 'cause the earth is covered by sleet,
and they cannot smell anything familiar to them,
and my shoes and socks are soaking through,
and my hands feel numb and my nose drips phlegm,
and my 4 horsepower snowblower's sparkplug just blew,
and the tall gaunt shadows of the afternoon sun,
fall against unearthly empty phantom buildings,
where none of my friends live and no friendly faces come,
and I'm tailgated by aggressive cars on the Southern Parkway run,
whose windows are darkened by illegal tint,
and the diners' mediocre food feels toxic to my gums,
and there are flies even in the expensive restaurants,
and where I'm always running late and feeling the bum rush,
and there are flies even in the expensive restaurants,
and where I'm always running late and feeling the bum rush,
and where the taxes are too high,
and even the Long Island streets are congested,
and generally no one gives a shit about anyone else,
until I realize that I am either the no one,
or the someone else,
and the sanitation trucks roll, and the air pollution smells like
burnt toast and the gasoline of cars and buses and trucks,
and I cannot seem to want to leave this place,
and can never imagine myself living anywhere,
burnt toast and the gasoline of cars and buses and trucks,
and I cannot seem to want to leave this place,
and can never imagine myself living anywhere,
if you weren't there as a refuge,
as a safe place to rest
my eternally wandering heart.