BROKEN GLASS ON THE
AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS
Only the pitfalls of other men and the wind that
cuts like a knife can bring me back from this edge.
I am walking sideways, beneath tall buildings and
overhanging ledges. Never knowing why, I move
along evermore. Clouds like inflatable balloons
skitter past my eyes, shapes and curls advancing
in an open sky. I'm looking for comedy, but it has
long ago left this tired and distasteful town.
Broken glass on the Avenue of the Americas,
what they still try calling it anyway - shards
and razor points flying through air.
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