i miss new york. the days of georgeandjennifer being one word. saturday nights stashing winter coats under the speaker beneath johnnie raising the roof. angels handing me other angels. junior writing the scriptures to which we were devoted. dancing well past dawn in bikinis and stars. walking home alone on sundays singing softly out loud against the rhythm of subway grid steam. body still vibrating enough to keep moving. memories of ladies room time-out and sub-culture reunions. sometimes meeting on christopher street just to keep it going. weekend graveyard shifts as therapist waitress. weekday yaffa cafe at 4:00 am. tuesday nights and fashion parties with AB entourage. falling in love with the wrong guy...for two years.

it is early morning, stealing away from protective sheaths of skin and sweat i earned. i surface to street level, no sun yet. wherethehellami? [do they even have that on the menu] right about this time head music gets written. i can hear the high-hat of rat tat tap garbage rummage rodent, no wait itisanoldjazzman. he rotates one eye to get a better view of women here on mars. i drag my deservedly beaten ass toward something resembling comfort. foreign though i might know it when i see it, antagonizing over the loss of sleep. fuck you and your confederacy of beauty, my needed rest is one from dissonance, the causality of my divided self. when all i am trying to do is get home.

< yeah >