Aug 18, 2015
Static On the plush seats of a two hour delay in the city of roaches And no, it's not New York. Sometimes I wish it was. But instead, we seem to float endlessly along the glass, the only separation from Tuesday rain And the hopes that we may really feel something on our burned and painted fingertips. It's the turned page of New York, so to speak. The turn where the book slows. You get unknowingly bogged down from your high by the facts of the life. Facts say 10 PM departure. Facts say the city is a false state. Or do they? I can't recall. We're not going home to New York. The City of Roaches will have to do.