pass turnstiles, parks, dusty alleyways, stadiums and rinks from the Bus Terminal.

Red bricks, aggregates, and conglomerates,
skyscrapers and tents.
Big band, little band, Andre 3000, rap, jazz,
jizz. Magnetic beaks navigate.
Migration cycles of summer.
The birds repertoire contests that of
Shakespeare. Phonolitic Church Bells
tintinnabulate.
Sapphic couples:
kisses on red skin
on park benches
down lonely roads
hands feeling, reaching like hyphae.
Dressed in drag, in BDSM
with dicks and balls and butts and tits and all.
A Palestinian protest intrudes:
Gaza
poor bloody Gauza
bloody Gauze
Everyone’s left naked and headless,
but please,
no one leave broken-hearted,
please.

Allochthonous Paumanok
Queen Victoria Statue
Your Majesty!
It’s National Indigenous History Month as well.
Were you aware? Do you care?
Crimson maple leaves. 157 in all.
Fireworks. Catherine’s wheel. Tiananmen Square.
In Chinatown,
the Falun Gong, flowing, try to persuade me to attend
a Shen Yun show,
and a street preacher shrieks at me
of doomsday prophecies.
I’m handed my thousandth leaflet,
pamphlet,
manuscript,
communist manifesto,
whatever.
Cartesian plane of
this country’s
men and women,
our patriotism is amiss.

This grey misty air is just the
pessimum of the slums
hidden under the
persimmon sun
where
fossorials hunt for cigarette butts
beside
gum fossils on limestone blocks.
Fentanyl overdoses and withdrawals.
Chorea.
Cholera,
but the intestines are these streets.
(This section isn’t poetry, it’s the reality of poverty).
And up around the bend, just around that corner is Industry Sector
where
streamlined dorsal fins
with license plates are like some
kind of futuristic fish;
where
a king is crowned banker--
the Royal Bank--
and is made our ruler.
Soon they’ll be advertising on Police Cars.
Policies that were made for the police
to censor the free.
But we’re still detectable by sensors,
CCTV’s, security, LED’s, smartphones, etc.
Point. Click. Look. Stare.
Selfies. Snapshots. Screenshots.
Oh, you need a shot? Inoculation or cocktail?
Don’t worry, I got your back!
The liquor store is open until midnight
and don’t worry it’s a buck-a-beer!
Just jump on this LRT, but remember,
don’t jump off because
Kirchoff’s law doesn’t apply here.
I pass rinks and stadiums, dusty alleyways, parks, and turnstiles to the Bus

Terminal.