flying back to Florida for a spell,
then it's back home to the Big Apple
for a summer of fun and poetry,
plus figuring it out and finding a place to live.
I could always bunk up with Franco,
but after being on the road for three years
I look forward to my own place
and getting my shit outta storage.
been applying to jobs in the city,
but with my luck, I will get an offer
from some design firm
in Chicago or Charlotte.
maybe New York isn't my home anymore,
after all we are not captives of our cities
or our choices, so why do we repent
when all we have to do is run.
my old apartment on 89th Street is still vacant,
my TV stand is still there,
maybe I should squat there
and see how long I can keep it up.
I will just shit and shower at the 92nd Street Y,
cover the windows and devise an escape route
in case Mayer the owner of the building comes round;
I wonder if he still does.
I pray my directions comes,
no matter how corrupt and I hope
New York City is in the cards like an old abusive lover,
but whatever happens, I will respond
with swords and words that break chains.