new york city is spinning,
humming like the air is a dream on fire,
she always has the way with the warming,
encompassing embrace.
i can feel her in my lungs,
in between my toes,
thick,
drowning,
and yet at the same time
there is the possibility of buoyancy here,
the mire could lift you to the surface for a second,
above the clouds,
looking out and down,
the tickle of weightless hovering in your gut
as the the stars swim around your ears
like as if nothing was happening,
the moon drifts by like nothing,
as if you were one of them all,
one with them all,
even if just for a moment,
you get to feel what it is like to shimmer in heaven,
careless of the seemingly inevitable descent,
back to the underground,
back out into the day,
reeling and teetering through the sense
that pays the way
for our nightly birth and rebirth,
for comets,
shooting stars
and falling ones too.
the cycle gains speed,
swarming whirlwind, faster and more,
and with each passing day
you get one step closer to the heart of the thing,
looking straight in,
watching and listening to the distant echo
and fluttering glow
that creeps through the mess, the mess.
the mess that keeps us all
on the edge of our seats,
tip of our toes,
stretching and straining for a glimpse
of the perfect impossible...