FIVE POEMS

Blaze Mulholland burns. Getty nudesstand sentinel in ash. Marie Antoinette’s porcelainin jeopardy a second time. What a shame to watchher lover’s pillow burn. From the hilltop museum,it’s difficult to tell the city from plywood empirebacked by buttresses. I’m thinking about us,how easily it could all become smoke. I tell you about the Watteauwith the lovers, the innamorati who wear no masks. They’re enchantedby a guitar. The Vessel Hudson Yards, ManhattanPeople pose on eighty landings,a copper honeycomb.A two hundred-million-dollar sculptureabove West Side Rails.I watched a 70s porn where men cruisethose weedy lotsnow penthouses for oligarchs.On the old piers, guys pinned name tagsto their shirts, in case they fellthrough rotten boards and drowned,no family to claim them.New York City,my first crush.I’ve been away too long to live here again.Maybe I’m just as goneas the old neighborhood.It’s magic hour.A handsome stranger takes a…