I.

Today, I think maybe no one in New York is interesting. They all just go about their days. Something like the movies, when I want life to be real. You know, like on TV. The truth is I’ve been imagining them all anyway. I can’t sleep because I have to keep them alive. Because the TV & our brain run on electric current. Maybe if we had another 90 minutes. After the season closes. Anyway, the air’s been cold I think. & bakeries keep churning out their steam just like the manholes. I walk overtop of them so my skirt can feel alive again, just for a moment. If it’s the same moment. Something like finally hanging the painting just right. I’ve heard it’s all in the angles. That’s how my body meets the ground. What if we held hands. Today, I think maybe no one. Something’s been bothering me about days. Like in the movies. Or maybe it’s all been about bodies. What if because you died. Anyway, the streets just keep churning out our lives.

II.

Today, I think maybe someone in New York is interesting.
They all just go about their days, when I want life to be real.
You know, like electricity.
Loops through every system.
What if there were steam.

Anyway, the seasons just keep changing.
I walk overtop of them, heart pulsing on its current.
Because it feels like someone.
I still love skirts but not who they make me seem.

Like I belong in this body.
Maybe with a little more effort..
With the day’s heat threaded through my fingers.
Like the heart steams.
If it’s too much moment.

III.

Today, I think maybe everyone in New York is interesting. They all just go about their days. You know, like on TV. The truth is I’ve been windowless so long I’m imagining them all anyway. I can’t sleep because I have to keep them alive. Because the TV & our brain run on electric current. Maybe if has a little more warmth. After the season closes. 

Anyway, the air’s been cold I think. & bakeries keep churning out their steam just like the manholes. I walk overtop of them so I can feel alive again, just for a moment. If it’s not too much effort. Something like finally hanging the painting just right. 

I’ve heard it’s all in the angles. That’s how my body meets the ground. What if we held hands. Today, I think maybe someone. 

Something’s been bothering me about days. Or maybe it’s all been about bodies. Overtop the seasons, churning out our steam. The truth is I’m a better window. The doors no longer separate one hour from the next.

Today we’re set in a bakery. What if everything was served cold. That’s an interesting conflict, I think. Because we’ll no longer need

electricity. 

Why the heart
steams. If it’s too much
moment. 

Anyway, the streets
just keep churning
out our lives.