Saturday, February 6, 2010

Dear New York,

Sometimes, in those rare moments when I force myself to look up from this device, I see you in your entire glory. I see you for the grit and glam, the bright lights that can outshine those of the Vegas strip. I see you for the stuff that poems and movies and photos and songs and history are made of, and I see you for the epithets that were made just for you.

I admit, sometimes I don't see your beauty. Sometimes I don't always stop in awe of the Empire State building in the distance, nor marvel in Central Park summers. But I live for the Bowery poetry nights - the nights that make you feel alive, that awaken the soul after it's been sleeping for far too long. And I long to find the non-cliches you have to offer. Something that makes me feel like I selfishly have a little piece of home.

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