Poetry

Enough of Nothing, Enough of Everything

New York was the land of the bleary eyed fucker, the nowhere junkie, and the quarter cup of coffee.

Poem by The Dime Store Casanova - jsonnenblick88@gmail.com Doodle ©Luigi Scarcella

Doodle ©Luigi Scarcella

My heart is filled with the love, not the love of another, but the love of myself, you see? This is not a reason to celebrate: I have christ, or the person I love is someone I think loves me. They don’t, they never did. The future is what my neighborhood has become, enriched with the young white professionals who only listen to bands that are really the worst, I mean the worst. They say things like: “Well, at my office we have low cal coffee.” and “I’m holding sex over him to see if he really likes me.” I want you all to understand, New York was not like this. New York was never like this. People say, “Things change”. Cancer doesn’t, it gets stronger and it spreads, it devours everything in its path. Hit the lotto or don’t, the hair in the bathtub drain is yours. It’s scary to wither and die, I know that. I’ve done it. Or at least it’s been done to me, by vile jungle beasts. New York was the land of the bleary eyed fucker, the nowhere junkie, and the quarter cup of coffee. You can’t even get a god damn nickel for a quarter. In the middle of this heat wave, I will be the first to say it, the weirdos are turning crazy. Present company included. Love and squalor. Remember, that’s all you have, love and squalor. If it keeps going the way it’s going, though, you may not even have any squalor left. Think about it.

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