The flood passes across the city, leaves only fresh skies and a quiet sunset over midtown skyscrapers. I weave through the suits of Grand Central and think how little I want their lives. They make for a nice backdrop. The second I hand over the keys I miss New York, wonder how I'll get by without it.
I wrote a sentence this morning so true that I'm still reeling from it except reeling is not the right word I'm dancing. I'm weaving this tapestry to a fucking magic carpet, try and stop me, you can't get more in my way than I can, you don't think I've spent my life battling this enemy? That's enough now. I ran along the water at noon, sun straight up, sweat in my eye, how tired was I, but it doesn't matter anymore. These feet will run on their own, these words will write themselves, I will fan these flames until the whole damn forest catches fire
just
watch
me
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