tourist girls on
9th avenue
trying to poke me in the eyes
the walking dead
thumb thumping
stopping in the middle
of the block
to transcribe their immortal thoughts
on social networks
as car horns blare
and alien dogs ride shotgun
in baby blue
convertibles
wagging their tongues
at the dim lit masses
this sunday
with the sun blinding me
with every train rerouted
and comic book trucks hijacked
the bars are packed
with afternoon drunks
shouting
at television sets
making out on barstools
as if this moment of bliss
had been scripted in a lab
placed here
as an experiment
because it doesn’t seem real
none of it
because there is murder
on the streets
of manhattan
commerce stabbing
serenity’s last gasp
the flesh and bone
in agony
the blood of the material world
running red and swiftly
down times square
sewers
feeding this hungry beast
eternal.