Monday, February 22, 2021

A Foregone Duty


A Foregone Duty


Apoplectic anorectic -

biometrically unsound -

New York City, once electric:

has it run its power aground?


Or has it always played

this trick of seeming sick -

doomed by fate to fade?

Oblivious to slow or quick,


when or then, again, before - it

knows what it is, it’s more.

How could horny New York quit

its favorite role as whore?


But it’s mother more to moods

than sin. Outer and inner -

to New York they’re foods

of the feast. Loser and winner -


fall on it, savor its beauty's

perfection, its chaotic loss

beyond measure. Its duty’s

foregone: it’s the boss.


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