Nyack Poem

Standard

Head heavy with a fury fueled
               By less than four hours’ sleep
Soco, and an extended period
             Riding bitch while smoking too many
                  Cigarettes (tobacco or otherwise),
I now wander enthusiastically lost
              Along scenic sidewalks in a place
I’ve never even heard of
                   Let alone ever been to. So what
If we were lured by the false
                    Promise of a childhood icon?
        We’re here, we’re young,
                              We’re plastered with
        Yesterday’s wardrobe among
                      The panoramic arrangements
Like stills from postcards
                                Never sent.
My mouth is acrid from all
            The smoking, and there’s a beauty  
In the way that the Hudson toils
                  Stoically toward Manhattan
And in the way the breeze breaks
                   Like diamonds against my skin
                                             In the soggy air.

-r. miller

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