.
Like New York it
does not
wait for me. But
when
I die I hope a friend
.
if I’ve still got one
will bestrew my
stash of ashes
.
through the iron
posts that form its
gate for me. Anywhere
.
upon the grass or mud or
snow will do. I
love it like
I love this city -
for its lack
.
of pity and its
fine oblivion.
Obsidian and platinum
must
be its favored
substances,
.
they're what it
would
be made of if
it were
a
pendant round a neck.
.
Black
absorbs, platinum
reflects. Just
like the moon
at midnight when
it genuflects.
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