Hot Dog

I look out of the window At the icicles, the hot dog vendor and the one beggar Amassing coins. I look at the winter-colors All a ghostly white, remembering the vibrant summer time In Sri Lanka, my country of birth. The roof appears to be sinking all of a sudden, The walls come closer, asphyxiating…

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A Poem in Heartwood Literary Journal

A poem of mine, that was accepted months ago. Its on NY. There is an error in spelling though (ate should be are). This journal is based in the state of West Virginia. http://www.heartwoodlitmag.com/spaceman-in-new-york

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Inferno in New York

How the night has infinite possibilities, In New York City. As a Sri Lankan man In Manhattan, in a new blue checked shirt, On a new street he has never set his eyes on before, A 27 year old virgin, who was brand-spanking new, Just like an un-driven car in a dealership, Searching for a…

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New York Minute

The empty pane That misses humidification On a cold winter day in New York When you need that Starbucks coffee And the burn sensation of curling mustard Over a sausage and a heated bun. Still you’d take that stranger That you met on the corridor That gazed at your eyes imploring A little kindness, and…

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New York

I look at the statue of liberty Doming over New York. While I walk, wondering why my testicles Seem aloof of any feeling, as I walk through Mazes of perpendicular intersections, Sightseeing, learning that paths cross here More often than we ever imagine, And yet we go about our business, Cold shoulders bumping at 90…

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Opportunity State

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…

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American Dream

Present drips in to your tongue, Like a cookies and cream ice cream cone. You’re taught to believe that fate promises And yet still, will not deliver. So many Americans have dripped Their tongues to taste the supposed good times, Only to encounter the salty nothingness, What leaves behind a memento, Of how this land…

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Porn Shop In New York

There is no sense in wondering Where each person comes from, In a land that fuels the dream engine. Here people live and die, on the promise of a dream, That like a reverie, multiplies And divides, as we climb a ladder To reach out to a taller rack, Inside a warehouse, which stockpiles dreams.…

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9/11 – The After Story

There are flea markets in Tribeca Little migrant stalls selling Pakistani Cashmere, Chinese ornaments and African curios. While a little upwards, Madison Square garden hosts a Floyd Mayweather fight. While a long way downwind, you have renewal, A 9/11 memorial, a structure that epitomizes The fighting spirit of the common man. The days of Marcione…

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