While empty subway cars
run all night long
we are eight million
lonely transistor radios
sending sad sound-waves
to the starred stratosphere
above twinkling Hell’s Gate
above grim Empire State
above bruised Chinatown
above our green Lady’s crown
souls break hard
broadcasting anguished
insomnia in the
City that Never Sleeps
our frequencies jam out
vying for validation
harmonize wise
pick stale fights
pledge future fucks
each alone together
swan singing our
static-interrupted lives
over strained airwaves
from the precious dusk
to the diseased dawn
of yet another day.
