Thursday, October 30, 2014
I Just Got Here
I have been a New Yorker all of my life
I am in exile
Give me your socks, your shades
Your umbrellas for
Six dollars off the street
Your crumbling gargoyles
I want my legs slung over a broken concrete slab
Canted to some wild angle
In front of angry, vast graffiti
Sipping Makers to celebrate
The grit, the audacity
The edge of pitch black harrowing through the day
A colossal ghost in an epic machine
Take my picture in front of that
Oh, you’re not the same
You are not The City of E.B. White and the gang;
I know, I “know”
I know Goddamned well that you are, so shut up.
This wrought iron is not a snapshot
It ain’t kidding, flaking rust
One peek under the current tumult
And you haven’t budged an inch, and never will
The crucible from which you forged your first years
is forging this year, this moment
The crucible that forged New York
Its primal machinery
became its heart as it grew
its spirit, its engine, master program, DNA
Coal fire, horse shed, printer’s ink
& whatever’s left of this whiskey
Exhale hard, rub those hands
Is that the only coat you have for the winter?
You will catch your fucking death.
This is New York City.
The news of this world is hurting me
So I am walking all the way home
Plunging full on into twilight in the 20s
Slowing the clock, taking a picture
Watching the lights pop
Focusing some childlike might
To stay saturated in this surreal onset of night
And I am wrapping my fingers around the points
Of this rusting wrought iron fence and
Looking up at this grand statue of …
Whoever the hell that is, upon his rampant horse,
And I am telling you
I am saying
that I was not a dreamy-eyed arrival
I live exile
I eat crucibles for breakfast
Heck, toss me that one over there
I mostly needed to be lost.
I can abide, I can withstand where I can be lost
I will just be here by this fence if you don’t mind
But … a rough-chopped
How the hell are you has emerged like
Oregano and spray paint
And the top of the Chrysler Building
Welcome. Now get to work.
Find yourself some real boots; you’ll catch your death.
Have you ever tasted pizza? No: no you haven’t.
Go get a slice of fucking pizza.
I am telling you
that I richly, deeply
I have been
A New Yorker