Escape to Brooklyn

The light from the screen stains
the inside of my eyelids,
smearing the darkness with that unholy glow,
like so many stolen neon signs.
The smoke detector suffocates
in a plastic bag-
no sympathy from me.
And I wait for sleep
like an always-tardy friend.
Maybe they forgot about the party.
Maybe I forgot to invite them.
In the mean time,
poetry and puzzle pieces
shift and shake and shimmer
in this damned undark.
And I try to let go, to be alone,
to soak in the lostness.
There’s nothing quit like
a fire escape window in this city that swallows
artists’ hearts for fun,
in this city that infects us with insomnia
because misery loves disciples.
Damp subway cars and ink stained palms,
victims of a lucky leaky pen.
Coughing up phlegm and wisdom and clarity
like Good Friday’s the only day of the year
I can offord it.
Out of the job, out of ideas,
out of my mind, out on my own,
out of the closet, out of cigarettes,
but the calm is everything
I dreamed it would be.
Who knew the antidote was
two uber rides and a strange
little room in South Slope?
The yellow brick road lead