sixthboro
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Cages thrown deep into the Hudson
The fishermen smoke stogies on the pier
I fear- that I might get sick
for the air is thick with the stench of smoke and chum
It stabs at my nostrils on my morning run
I spoted a New York liscense plate hanging from your chest
as you parade the streets, from one boro to next.
The best artists around can't wait till' you come to town
Sunlight bends at crack in my door trying to sneak a peak into my studio apartment
I hide from the cruel outside beneath these sheets
Skin pale as the moon
And although it's June
