logos

New York, there,

that island and

its fog, that

graduate when we're

ready to

disguise, or when

prompted, to

run across the

street, that green

weight examining

down to

ridges of perfect

seizures

expressed in numbers

that resemble

canticles

yet invested

with a distinction

startled from

a certain

clumsy

yen for

greeting the surface

tension

or engulfing

the flux with

subway tokens

the colour of

your eyes

the express intention

and other magnets

along the way


New York

has been farcical

clammy dumped

formed

stewed reaching

diametric

offed and still

but no land

exists

beyond a peopled

murk

and we arrive

hourly

instituted with

belief and

systematically

rigid while

betraying a neat

bomb bay

for the masses

to inspect


gracious opulence

sweats in the parlour


your love

is like mine

after all this

guff


poetry teeming

with stewards

of streets