there’s something about New York
the lunch counters, the music, the art scene,
the gutters, the lovers.
all look comers and questioners in the eye
and tell them to go screw.
it's a living flâneuse novel,
with wicked portraits of the insecure
haunted by drink and past sins.
it's a blind man with a pistol,
and storefront religion.
it's above
and underneath.
Manhattan is an abusive lover.
it's home.
forever.