You wonder if this city will kill you.
The way the sad boy doing cocaine dangles
his legs over the ledge of another roof
and your favorite summer song ends
or is it beginning—it feels too brief to matter.
Someone's life is a red or blue light in the distance.
None of this will strip you down the way you'd like.
You know you came here for the wrong reasons,
so tell me, if New York was a word
would it be money or ambition?
If you're lucky, love will let you forget about one of the two.
You think about this
while you watch someone beautiful
put a pill in your mouth
and a temporary feeling in your body.
And love—love again—
like a night siren, passes.
Why go into detail?
America is about finding something to worship.