This is an empire state with small towns in long alleys.
He’s stuck allowing for the possibility
that he’s going to touch base with someone
who used to keep him from going out
to get into trouble at ten o’clock in the morning.

Old girlfriends who would rather forget
that those four months had more good than bad going for them.

Guys who actually got books published,
and even managed some of that meaningful change going around.

He carries the suitcase he bought
for the sake of personality.

He wonders if his train stopped between realities,
put him into a coma for twelve hours,
and then just decided to not tell him about it.

Supposed to be a little past noon.

But the lights are keeping heaven realistic,
and people are hanging out of windows
to get a different kind of terrible air
into their popcorn bag lungs for a while.

And the spirit of adventure on the street,
a berserk jukebox playing a century of music in concert,
had reached a panic of needing something to become significant
long before he ever got there.

There’s wind coming up from the steps leading to the subway,
and he can’t pick out a single food smell
from a single one of the hole-in-the-wall cafeterias.
He can’t believe any of the bundles of clothes, skin, teeth, hair,
and bones think for even a second that their screaming
is going to change the world somehow.

It’s not that he’s tired and mean already,
but it’s not like he’s floating on the optimism
that runs between twenty and twenty-two.

He’s not a newcomer. Not really.
Living for years on the fringes of this harum-scarum heartbeat.
Living for years in cities that could fit into the palm of this place’s shotgun shack.

It gets you ready to lose everything,
or it gets you ready to start a business
out of the home in your hometown.

He knew this when it was still a romantic idea,
and finally left in the middle of that surreal wedding of his.
Gone without even getting close to saving
the kind of money he had always planned to save.

Five hundred dollars is gonna go fast.
He gets tired of strangers,
and faces that run from beautiful
to morbid and melting.

Five hundred dollars waits to become pennies and horror stories.
He looks for a familiar face to turn this place
into a wasteland for just a second.

Five hundred dollars,
he thinks as his right hand sweats around the suitcase handle,
and there are so many rich, complex,
humane mistakes that are trying to make eye contact.

05/19/2013

Posted on 05/19/2013
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