were typed with my dumb thumbs.
without opposing my nose
or my pedicured toes,
in the pitch of oncoming midnight
my eyes are closed.
I am just black licorice.
I am just a peach pit.
the air that passes through her lungs,
as the moon makes her way
across our New York City sky.
across our New York City sky.
I am just a bum,
infinitely aware of newness and air.