Wednesday, December 27, 2017

When I Go Out and Then Come Back

When I go out 
and then come back
with my psyche’s sack
as packed with the city
as all of the rest of me,
I’m coming back to New York 
of course. Like the mane
is the horse, andouille 
would not be but for pork,
and I am made out of New York,
not just in it. I’m a pure-grained 
example of what New York
does to the unwary soul 
in that famed New York minute.
It swallows you whole.
Even my iPhone colludes
in the business of keeping me
conscious of this, block to block.
When without mercy I’m shunted
from corner to curb in Manhattan 
and seize up inside 
from the shock, my iPhone 
reliably counsels:
‘press home and unlock.’
Since I’m always and already
home, pressing home doesn’t 
ever require a key. I press home 
and unlock when I know there was 
never a lock to begin with -
just me and the city and me
in the city and me as the city



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