Thick air in the thickness of it all, in
Manhattan on the eve of the fall, a
platform just below West 14th, where
Avenues of the Americas meet. It’s
11 p.m., no D.M.s – just
everyone on their Androids, I see them.
Skip small talk under all this heat, just
flirt with my phone and my poetry…
so why cry…
on a New York night?
from a New York fright?
with an apple’s bite to
create as I wait for trains
that may never come.