There’s nothing remotely strange
About New York City reinventing itself
While keeping the boroughs happy.
In this range of identities – which like Jigsaw puzzles
Fill themselves – you find ghettos that are both
A sanctuary to the like-skinned or perhaps the like-minded,
And labyrinths far more intimidating
Than the one in Crete. In this city, which displays
Her multiple personalities, you just
Have to wonder, what really happens
Inside these like-heavy cultures
That invent little Bombays, little Santo Domingos and so on.
And when you don’t’ acclimatize,
You keep a large chunk of you from back home
On this larger city of street-maze fame.
New York is where people learn to collide
And still stay for a while, as if there’s a language
Outside of bodies in burn phenomena,
And big yellow taxis are not the only
Ride the body can get into, there are strangers
That are searching for the same conclusion
As you are, and when they meet,
They unravel into an act of mercy,
Of what it is, to be a reciprocal
Without continuity, a shot of god knows who,
On the rocks, drinking the stranger’s tongue,
To outmaneuver the stark loneliness,
With a mouthful of opportunity.