fire escapes

I shatter

the fire

escapes so there is

no back way out. I know

there is only the one way I can

understand you. I fall

into your gutter shadow trap. New York

is a train of steel fire.

It surges under us and coughs up steam. You know

there is a monkey living in the wires. You feel him

screaming there. You don't

ask why. I like the way you do that. New York

has hair made of neon.

It swings in garrish pendulums of style. You are

the funkmaster of my sky. Clouds are nice;

I like them red. You laugh at that;

the sound comes out of your eyes. You are

made of sunglasses, bikinis, blue jeans, and the occasional business suit. You do

not stop moving. Something bites me.

It is the knife in your record player. You are

a city woman. You keep a gun in your mouth and locks in your ears.

You go to the beach every weekend and eat the sun with your flesh. New York

is a lady, dancing. She doesn't know who

you are. She doesn't have to.