A Partial View of the Triborough

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve found

names, personalities as brittle, excuse me, as braille

hints of interest, latched to the slightest

meaning. Not parlance. Let me say power.

The days rotate on their hinges. I can say I had

friends. Sizable numbers, without delay, we were

like, I don’t know, an absence. A civilization.

Prompt and unlike ourselves at all times: it was as if

we could stand to burst, to rapidly be

our own engines, rules, buildings, steel columns,

iron beams. This is when I said I had a foundry.

I had a scale, a summary and reflection, not

the desire, but the capacity to be

greater in titles and official things. Then I gave

it up. I sunk hillsides and fields and ash dumps.

I ran the concrete forth and I became the swarm,

the throng, corporate in absurdity. Most people

in opposition would say these are

the words I’ve prepared, while I am a speaker

without my text, let the day surprise me.

If it falls, it’s me who gathers from idiosyncrasies

sentences to shape a state and city.