In a horizontal mirror
of the spreading bay
the points of the angular city
are piercing the starry sky.
In the glittering sea of lamps
flirtatious sequenced boats
at your attractive legs
as they swim in the lower deck
of a brocade evening dress.
Suddenly we are lost
like needles in a labyrinth of a tinfoil.
Some things we take personally -
molting squirrels in the Central Park
and the metal body of a dead freedom.
It's getting dark in New York.
The glittering darkness lights up.
The thousand-armed chandelier of the mega city
writes Einstein's message about the speed of light
every evening on the gleaming surface of the water.
Just before dusk the silver screen
of New York sky is flooded
with hectoliters of Hollywood blood.
Where does the empire of glass and marble strive?
Where do the slim rockets of the skyscrapers aim?
God is buying a hot dog
at the bottom of a sixty-story street.
God is black
and loves the grey color of concrete.
Son was born from himself
in a paper box
from the newest sort of a slave.