Ode to a Carriage Horse in Central Park
Your leg is restless as a fly, stomping the pavement, as you stand in boredom gagging on your bit.
The room where Keats died is more holy than a church with far fewer sinful acqusitions.
Ode to a Stripped Bicycle in Brooklyn
The city you've come to call home, has robbed you of everything-
The cheap nightly rate, copious carafes of fresh morning coffee the glasssy blue glamour of an unheated swimingpool