My last stand will be in New York city. New York city make the mind come alive.
I want to go to New York City.
Sit on a park bench where Leonard Cohen sat with Joplin.
Whispering stories of things to come.
I wonder what he did to remember her in her death?
My soul has become so dirty.
I feel I would fall into the old city.
Become like her.
Full of secrets and hidden desires.
The woman are colder.
Warmer if they decide to allow you in to see.
Their permanent scars and tarnish view on love.
Leave me wishing to know all their mysteries and feel their hunger.
They dress in darkness.
I like my woman to wear black.
It make me aroused.
I want to roam the streets.
Be with the people at the lowest point in life.
I want to listen to their stories.
I don’t pity them.
I will tell them my stories.
I would sit in dark bars.
listen to the night people.
Perhaps dance in the twisted dance of passion and lust. .
I will sit on a bench.
My words would become complete.
I would flow with the city.
I would become the voice of insanity.
I will find my place.
I will go to New York soon.
To find my peace of mind.
17 April 1994
© 2011 Coyote Poetry