Fading crisp summer
carry me to anywhere--
she said, "you don't need a car,
it's the Big Apple, and you're
floating anyway,"
It sure doesn't feel like floating
more like gliding--
clean enough for a jacket--
cool sweat sweet and, sweet
comes clear down my cheek
clear enough for you to see
"you don't need to try so hard,
its just a block away,"

Tick tock
and its Times Square
Like its counting down to Doom's Day
or my 21st birthday--
Stephanie just couldn't wait
chubby fingers so malicious
that fed off the bottom of sign scripts
and decisions that made even
pit wretching gut cut bone dry
"doing what I have to, to get by"
seem more like a cop out
than an alibi

And I'm sad on the subway,
subdued on the bench
to count the faceless strangers
predict where I'm heading
because I'm doing just that;
heading where they are,
down the wrong track
like its my job
maybe the third time will be a charm
or maybe I won't have the chance
to see another crisp summer
folded like a twenty--
and admire Mr. Jefferson
to think about the duels he won--
and the ones who lost.