I enlisted the forces within to conquer the Whitestone Proper
quelled to imagine the musings of such Sea Birds, rolling
their plastic eyes at the pigeons of Washington Square.
Where are the leaves, the squirrels raged, tender tips
of fondling fingers folding and rolling their acorn nuts. I
might just squeeze his little cheeks at the sight his nose,
so squeeky and rabid. I scurried for the ground, found
yellow drips of picasso's blood boiling over the brim
of the Hudson River Bandit, steaming down shore
towards cities edge. If I looked twice and slowly,
the world might just edge to the end near battery park,
might just turn down 90 degrees and allow us to slid down
to China. The sea birds down here don't have patience
for me, and the pigeons have stolen one of their glass eyes,
so I am sure my stay is overwelcome and my welcome
over easy like the eggs scrambled in the Diner on 43rd.
I searched for Pizza, 33rd, 32nd, 31st, like the clock
ticking forward, the clock ticking forward, the clock
clickety clank of the widgets and wheels, of the cogs
and that steel, the springs and the wings, and the
white flying things, with glass eyes. I mentioned my
breath and covering my mouth, breathed, to be
certain, it was that shit smell of steam and not me.
I don't like you, and that's an abstract! But I am sure
if you looked in side, took time to cock back my head
you'd be certain there's something to like. I'm no city,
but you're no island, so let's not pretend who were not
supposed to be. You're linked by bridges, and I only visit
but your food's pretty good, and my singings quite bad
but we've something for each other, for each other.