in long planks
i want to.
when i walk around 5th street & find a lone apartment
with sighing threadbare curtains hanging over
a drippy pink red neon sign: PSYCHIC READING
i beg —
who still pays cheap rent in NY?
who left for LA?
is it worth it?
with palm tree kisses & star signed asphalt
i hold my book closer to my chest
the faded neon washes my face
& tells me of daughters
i’d like to believe
that the universe is working
in our favor to show us wondrous things
i palm a half-ripped twenty on a formica table.