I'm unsettled.
My three year old building
Holds me 19 floors high,
Cradled like a teenage
Mother holding her child
Haphazardly in her arms.
The buildings I see...
Some littered with barren ivy.
Scaffolding surrounding new
Construction.
Old paint flaked window panes.
Stainless steel frames.
Unmolested red brick with
Ghastly white mortar.
Pourus concrete oozing
Generations of street life
Even when it's 30 stories away from
The pavement.
I try to visually pinpoint
The nauseating gut feeling
That is telling me that something
Is wrong.
The city sneers at me
As if it has a
Secret and it isn't telling.
That's the thing about New York,
He'll tell you what's going
On only when he's damn
Well ready.
I imagine this was what it was
Like in ancient times
When viallgers were outside a temple
knowing there was a terrible
sacrifice happening.
Watching and helpless.
I can feel the guilt and
The excuses you come up with
To deal with it.
I am trying to
Fool myself into thinking
This too is necessary.
Silently the city is
Swallowing someone or something.
Gobbling a dream, suffocating
A hope, snuffing the life
of an innocent.
I hope the city gods
Are appeased by this nameless malice
Working its will.
Perhaps this means we will have another
Year of properity and
Happiness in our Village.
