“Welcome To New York”

I never follow my emotions home from the bar. Walking home from the bar down streets still covered in decades old dust — something cancerous and stained — I buy a piece of pizza and only eat the crust. I wonder if my husband will always be good at being my husband. I keep walking and my mind wanders, slips, grows a wither, and then I’m thinking about animal husbandry and why is animal husbandry called animal husbandry, I don’t know, and I’m wondering who I could ask why animal husbandry is called animal husbandry but I don’t know anyone to ask, and then I’m wondering when was the last time I smelled something mellifluous and who, in this moment, is hiding behind a slab of Kevlar or ducking in a bomb shelter and how big is an ostrich heart and who will never need an alarm clock ever again. 

“Blank Space”