What I want is someone who will stand and smoke Marlboro's with me (the strong ones, in the red package) in the rain after eating a lumberjack at the strand on 98th street
someone who will hold my hand while watching the boats at Southstreet Seaport.
someone who can out-drink me at Mcsorley's and eat more cheesecake at the Carnegie Deli
I want to be in the city I love with someone who will go down on me on the centre steps of the Met and, go home with me - watch Annie Hall andcry listening to Nina singing Porgy at the Vanguard I want someone who will stare with me at Auden's house and,
walk with me to the Dakota to look up to the window where Lennon lived.
someone who knows all the words to The New Colossus.someone who,wants to be with me in the city of the heros we share.what I want is someone who knows about the Irish and llis Island and,
why Sugar Hill is called that
what I want is
to be with you
in the city we love.
The listening apparatus
Is silent –
Ahead of sound –
Your eyes gush
Like awakened
Blake.
From: kolkata, west bengal, India
About me: What would I be saying If I said, ‘The sky is true’? Would the dream pass more slowly If I lowered my voice, bassooned my vowels? No end to wonder, I find, And the evening mist is still. I talk in allegory when I speak to myself. I walk up the hill – my spirits rise. The process ‘saying’ again Is always about itself, about something Other than its content Its statement and assertion. I reach with every word For the truth of what I find— I miss and then I say something else. The reader, myself included, Gets only the altered after-saying. Where is the sky in all this--? The measure wavers – the link is broken – Disturbed, a trial of what is, Wanders, palpitates, grows worn In its youth— Like a design by William Morris Or brothel in Joyce’s arcane language.
