He wakes with a veil of fading orange sunset falling over his face. Slowly, he raises a hand, twisting it through the shards of light. There are no callouses. No dry cracks of peeling skin. It is ... [+]
Why can't I write the feeling
of this city?
The floors are warped and the paint is chocolate chipped mint. The plugs and light
switches
Are sideways. So are the streets. The
Brooklyn Bridge is crowded in the hour
before sunset
But not the Williamsburg although
It's covered in much better graffiti
and splattered
rain.
I used to think everyone loved
in the same way. Used to sit on evenings
painting fumes.
I used to know bus schedules and the
trains.
Used to know the style, Bedford Ave.
You.
of this city?
The floors are warped and the paint is chocolate chipped mint. The plugs and light
switches
Are sideways. So are the streets. The
Brooklyn Bridge is crowded in the hour
before sunset
But not the Williamsburg although
It's covered in much better graffiti
and splattered
rain.
I used to think everyone loved
in the same way. Used to sit on evenings
painting fumes.
I used to know bus schedules and the
trains.
Used to know the style, Bedford Ave.
You.