dreams of nebraska

tonight it is rain in brooklyn, welcome, cooling rain.
more though, than the cool air,
it is the quiet that falls behind the steady rustling of falling water,
like a blanket or mask,
only the hardest sounds still make it through,
sirens and planes,
but even still they all take on the nature of something far off,
like at least i was not exactly in the center
of this delicous burrough that i adore,
and also love as much to pretend it is somewhere else.
new york is like the best kind of love affair,
absolutely infatuated,
and yet still tense,
like i know that is is something that i probably should not enjoy nor want,
but inexorably do anyway.
impossible things are my favorite,
and here is dripping with impossibility,
soaking in adversity,
resistance is as thick as the bricks that lie,
ancient,
underneath the blacktop in layers,
the old roads that were here before anyone,
the lines traced and retraced with buildings and wires and trains,
layer upon layer,
year upon year,
decade upon decade until even the earth herself has to agree
with what is happening,
and the lines of the spirit surrender and move along,
crawling with the cabs and trucks.
it is only on the wet nights
in early summer and fall that everyone gives up,
and digs in for the night,
and there is room for these ghost lines to course along,
liquid in thier fury,
feverish in thier release,
10,000 eyes,
8 million people,
one heart,
and the occasional rolling grumble of thunder,
and hiss of lonesome car tyres
dragging through shimmering streets,
bouncing headlights off of the earth
and into the clouds in a prayer
for more of whatever she has in store.
i don't care,
as long as there is more,
it is all perfect to me...

elvis has left the building

from the roof of 250 w 26th st, nyc.