well into the Bowery Poetry Club,
greasing the bartender,
blowing lines in the bathroom,
stealing shirts after
my shirt set.
I grew up here,
I came of age here,
I interned here when I was 23.
maybe the rain ran away,
but the summer is cemented,
and I will miss the days we had,
because I can't get them back,
no matter how many times
I go to Europe and drive the time
that drives the seasons away.
I'll be back again to stay,
sober and all in 2019,
just to prove the world wrong
and get back things
that mean more than things to me.