You Broke Up With New York For a Reason; This is the Future and it Sucks

You belong where the crows replace the pigeons
and boys in light pants wear flannel to
cover up their scars
and stich wide mouthed seam to sew
their religion on.

Hip stitch, one, two
let me come and dance with you,
Box step, three, four,
no one's gonna love you more
than these overgrown trees dripping with moss
and tangled hedges in the twilight,
breaking onto docks
to wet your feet
and taste the salt we've come from.

And each of us, in time, will return
to this little place,
a third of our souls,
and keep, keep cracking;
I'll be the glue that holds you together,
I'll be your heart,
beat for you one and two once more,
I'll be.