THERE'S NO LEAVING NEW YORK

rather than bitch or give any semblance of a shit

suit pants typically pristine now drenched in piss

broken glass cutting deep into burnt boiled skin

limbs broken and snapped like branches and twigs

mumbling soft words in an exasperated breath

laying near death in a bloody stinky mess

sky full of manila folders and remnants of desks

crying out helplessly with no hope left

in a cold shade made by the congestion of ash clouds in a blue sky

while off somewhere in high mountain tops

hums and drums of winds race through cracks and whistle alarming songs

and the urgency of the breeze rustles dead leaves from off trees

where a rat's skull is shattered in an instant

clasped between owl claws in an early dewy twilight

far away from block parties

and hot dog stands

and women in cowboy boots on the corner

far away from capped and flag-waving boys at parades

yellow taxi honks and pedestrian shouts

and the early morning garbage trucks

poets sitting in creaky buildings

in classrooms in the winter

looking out glass windows

witnessing the snow fall through thick black glasses

warmed by their tweed jackets

smudged ink everywhere

while i attempt to remember how lucky and fortunate i am

to be alive

even in this moment

as my last breaths draw out

i keep wanting to return

to any given summer day

between the ages five and eight

to be on the tree swing which kept a natural rhythm in my front yard

to feel the feeling that i could fly away

but truly

honestly

rather than that

rather than bleed

rather than scream

or dream or scheme

or laugh or cry

rather than try

rather than

all that

to wish for it to be different

for it all to start over new

i will stop in the shade of a bodhi tree

in the twilight hour

under a shimmering diamond sky

i will sit in lotus pose

eyes closed

with a soft breath

waiting for you