If it is true that I gave it its time, &
if it is true that the city is ripe now,
then I will ripen along with it, hatch
into the dancing limbs
of a human form, neon, carbon,
red rooms, banquet halls,
matchsticks, Cosmopolitans, honey mustard
sauce on an unfinished Japa-
dog, here to live the high life,
& to try a Bloody Mary. If it is true
this metropolis, this sprawling republic has a pulse,
it dims somewhere between 12 and 12:15 into a mutter, & joins the stoners in falling asleep when life becomes more boring than dreams. City lights the windows
to a spaceship. City sound the ruffling
of a drag queen’s gown. For
the disco ball may not reflect the people
beneath our finery, but
we do not care. Let me in, I your
devotee, I your
garish impersonator, & let me head downtown
to feel life wasting away in my bare hands
though it is just one night.