By Matthew Paul Olmos
Looking at New York, the past years in play
nights over bars and all ways towards the stage
drinks of unending and drunk to amaze
and East Village mornings like the perfect day
Corner rooms in Manhattan with love five flights up
and Hell's Kitchen live-ins laying like marriage
save Columbian distractions shutting my shit shut
and evenings in Brooklyn, my bed partners left unsaid.
I could be happy in Barcelona as far as I know
and the theatre in Germany
and the something just across the ocean's throw
but I don't know what's left in me
keep on keeping on in this city i love,
but strangely ready to go, maybe I've had enough
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