NYC Freefall (a poem)

Friday, February 28, 2025

Big choppers don’t pull quick.
Shaboozey vibes, everyones happy,
Egyptian natives and me in New York City—
transcendent, hugs and high fives under the scaffolding, world peace with a tweak of chemistry.

Don’t speak a lick, but I know he loves me.

Brothers in arms, 4 AM Manhattan—
epic, we all leveled up together.

Tribeca, after the conviction,
we drank a shot—
nothing ever happened.

Just down from the firehouse,
34 counts—
and he walks on,
untouchable.

The train wreck that never resolves—
headlines shift,
names fade,
but the weight stays,
settling into the cracks of the city.

Another round,
another story,
told over the clink of glasses
like it’s already history.

In the park with my daughter,
watching the birds wake the morning
and the homeless pull up a piece of cardboard.

The fear, the angst, the anxiety—
and you want me to stay sober?

The trauma, the memory of too—
so it’s not just today,
it’s everything before too.

Cascading—
the multiplicity of one billion connections
across the psychosphere,
and that’s per nanosecond.

Leaving me paralyzed—
guns pointed,
at least three nervous triggers.
I can’t move to the floor,
but they keep shouting to get there.

The loss of us in this weather,
the home swept off the foundation.
We don’t even know
what we’re fighting for.