Awake; like empty waves of trains in the bleary morning rush | the daily commute of metal wheeled coffins; tightly grasped by pall bearers—conductors | engineers who seek the high road to Mecca, America’s Freedom Tower; and points South | the Metro sinks to the depth of the burgeoning skyline; traces ghost lines of antiquity | to hug the rails of a fat dollar bill and a hungry New York Daily News.
Work; in the City | after hours, barrooms, handshakes beneath dark doorways; up stairs of the delicate essence of a Broadway mesmerized; the rhythmic rumba of mermaids, jungle kings; a two-faced opera star | the Times Square great white wail revival of Pinocchio; in the place where Debbie once did Dallas.
Relax; wheels turn | street merchants spot travel-weary marks, their craving heightened by jet lag; Air Bus itineraries | hotel check-in no sooner than 2; then wait in Central Park | buy frankfurters under Sabrett umbrellas; yellow and blue | say hello to America’s first “black” President in Harlem | who plays saxophone and panders to the poor; breaks the ice for the real thing yet to come.
Stand; on street corners and watch the homeless; choke on squalor and urban blight | the rattle and mayhem of inner city life; an American era of loss | Haudenosaunee off the desecrated lands of Uncle Sam’s broken promises | soldiers, war-torn and weary; crushing opioid pills strained through cotton wads; bottle caps and dirty syringes | the last souls of a lost generation.
Wait; for economic collapse | that all men may one day be equal to the greed of Wall Street and the indigo shirted night | neon billboards radiate high above Yellow Cabs’ tail lights; red | rain smeared streets reflected on the glass sheets of storefront windows; pastiche | as the world sits in donut shops and cafeterias waiting; for the USA, ABC, CBS and NBC | fall lineup.