Knickerbocker

Summer nights in Brooklyn, you see threads you lost years ago waiting for you among unknown streets and you try to pick them back up with your newfound fine motor skills, the payoff is reassuring. Wander down streets yet unmarred by cynicism, by the big city, and wonder what your feet would look like on their pavement, wonder how you’d sleep in their lullabies. She says oh you only ever talk about moving, I don’t believe it, and you can’t yet tell if she is right. No one seems to know what they are doing,  anyway. The party was so many balloons on the ceiling, the guest of honor got locked out at one in the morning and there isn’t a metaphor in there, only the lesson that life is ridiculous and we’ll do best to always laugh at it. I thought I had answers, but I’m only winging it too, but maybe we can wing it together, all I’m saying is I like you. We are already knee deep in summer, but I’m not worried, it hasn’t been many minutes since I sat crying on a train on the other side of the world and it doesn’t mean a thing really. The point is tonight I watched the sun set in peach and cicada song over Manhattan and I could only remember the things that made me happy, what more could I ask
but that?