I.
weeds wave gaily
on the 14th St exit
from the FDR Drive.
my heart has abandoned
all those feelings that
no longer serve me.
II.
that deeply
annoying hum
in the background;
the moth that flutters
and suddenly dive bombs;
the stench of hot
garbage on steaming
concrete streets;
a persistent panhandler;
oh, you’re still here?
III.
games played whole-
heartedly feel as if
life or death hangs
in the balance, but
that friendly hooded figure
is nowhere to be seen,
no matter how much
we beg him to appear.
IV.
an old flyer, so worn
as to be nearly
illegible; a mural
tagged to a palimpsest;
a blurred receipt that has
gotten wet; the way
I felt about you.
V.
when fuckface arrived,
I took off my glasses
so his face would blur
into the background
into the sea of faces
and my eyes would
no longer need
to skip over it like
the lone monster
in the crowd.
VI.
my Unicorn Tears
on your lips, your cheeks:
visible evidence of my
invisible heart
that you hold so softly
between your hands.
R. Brookes McKenzie 