madison avenue you are a bore

What a strange cobble-ball of a city / a wide jackal bitter of swelling concrete and steel – habits of skeleton and rock hewn together like braces / like an orthodontic fracture of an island / Cold now the November street funneling back pumpkin spice latte cups trashed like ashen words Tossed flippantly fluidly flagrantly / Graffiti-Tongued and loud-mouthed rapturous

I think about things I don’t need and then I think about it the sickness in my stomach that will not quell / I think about capitalism bubbling like a cystic tick burrowed in our Flesh / I think about what would possibly motivate me to want to wander haphazardly into Macy’s / to purchase a fluttering dress with a price tag higher than my IQ / The artificial flavors retching themselves from the cupcake corners, from the hot dog hollows
I think about all this sensory information coded in my brain like zeroes and ones and all the things that are not numbers; but are visions, but are colors, but are electricity, but are human strange ticking boxes ticking around me / the excess – Tell me something that isn’t a cliche, right?
Madison Avenue you are a bore / And the steam rises from the underbelly of the city, the steam flows hot tipped and cranking Even on to your prettiest of streets Even on to your glassiest of facades / Everything reflects everything here – just mirrors of Mirrors – shines back Not the sky just itself – just it’s own glass reflection Looking for itself In the mirror
I happen across the Empire state building / I find the word Empire is not misplaced
I write as I walk / each word finding more meaning to my senses then the street does / The task of documenting it a more thrilling task then living it / I hate this city, it’s true, but the city hates me as well – hates my lawless my freedom
What is necessarily the purpose of creating a magnificent space if it’s just for yourself
isn’t it supposed to be shared
What’s the point

The wound from which all other wounds source
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