New York

out on a limb
for the first time
in a while
peering out my
larger than life window
into the garden
that is lined with
cemented regret

and the old prose
that keeps letting itself go
begging for a world war
wondering if the sun
shining through
has the power to lift
this broken heart

but i wade through it anyway
i list the reasons
why we mustn't waste our
time and how
the clock is ferociously
ticking our lives
into dust

and that one fine day
we will wake up in
our old creaky beds
with our backs broken
from the weight that we've carried
and the desires we suppressed
and we'll say:

"we should have moved to new york--
we should have fucked like animals--
we should have committed more time--
drinking ourselves into oblivion--
and creating, goddamn it, Zeke...

forever creating and recreating
all of this fucking solace
through the demonstrative waste
laid down on canvas, tape & film.
oh how we could have loved so much
more, in new york."