there’s a poor man’s Chrysler Building on this side of Brooklyn.
aluminum steel siding is my childhood dream. the seagulls are coasting on by. most days. are filled with strangers and opinions.
you’re a tender trap. you’re waves of humidity defiant. in this late March air. you’re what i turn a blind eye to and unwaveringly i stare. you’re the sheepish smile i can’t fight off my face when i’m nothing but alone.
The cheap lines are all becoming castles – and – you’re to blame.