Precious
I just want to walk this city, always
The background blur in a thousand photographs
Gliding along with all the old ghosts of me
Whose sentences begin with, "Do you remember...?"
And I answer yes, no matter the truth
I take their hands, hot with their exertions
I can feel the birds in their muscles
Suddenly they need a different train
They're on the wrong street
They're gone, but they never go far
Their hearts are stuffed with old Time Out pages
The free events circled
They breathe coffee
You can play them the whole song
But they'll only hear the last line
-New York City, 25th and 9th
14 January, 2014
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