The Moon Calls Without You or A View of New York from A Rooftop on Gardens Street in your notable absence

The moon is full and beautiful and bright

And I miss you

And the roof is empty and overflowing with the sound of floating cars

And I miss you

And below little real men run about exercising fake rhythms

And the cold darkness floats above the bright street light night

And I miss you

And the bad blood runs deep as it courses through the empty radio signals

As it spills out empty words crashing over full ears

As the fuckers roam the darkness under the cover of beauty and immortality

And I miss you

And the tree dances in its silky stillness

And the whiteness turns silver turns black turns white turns flashing red and yellow

And the man in the moon laughs at the circus

And the background glows with wakefulness and decrepit buildings and beautiful lively death

And I miss you

And the buildings are more alive than they should be

And more present than is required of them

And more permanent than decent civil society would fear

And more longing than Arabic odes would permit

And less full than a good civil engineer would agree to

And I miss you

And I am tired

And the moon calls

And I say goodnight

And you say nothing

Because you are already sleeping

Or you should be

And I miss you

As the cool darkness covers us both

Gently

On the surface of my skin

And your dreams of everything

And nothing

And slow cigars burning out in the absence of good company

And the night falls

And droops

And spreads over us

Silently

And I miss you.

And wakefulness probes my skin

And outside the evil taxi cabs and the evil chauffeurs and the moralessness of reason preys on the silence of the night

And I miss you

And I miss cola

Or Coca-cola

Or coke

And real coffee

And absent talks strolling over sideways cracks in the sidewalk

And half-arranged subjects demanding and begging and creeping

And stealing and murdering the false subway lines

Chewing their way through half-open social norms

Singing to cards swiping

To unbalanced tourists to half-awake business men

To unforeign languages rooting in the tunnels

To surprise performance surprising no one except unbalanced tourists

Tipping over new city New York bicyclists

To failed bisexuals and breaking couples and broken fake plants

And a man breathing above the hum of the pothole as subways swish by

Underneath forgotten odes and extinct species of underdeveloped pocket-cultures

And pocket communities that are here but damn hard to enjoy regularly

As I irregularly miss you under my regular longing

And forgetful jazz ensembles awakening ancient rhythms

And the night crying

And the sea dying

And the taxi meters flying

Beyond unknown depths and valleys and hills and broken mountains and well-arranged and under-constructed staircases and beauty and ugly corruption and serene deals struck on mounting pressures and individuals wandering below the lit star-lit moon-lit night

And I miss you.

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