Walking across 14th street, rumor
of August is a factory facing
Union Square station and
Broadway collapses before us
stripped of desire, immense in
its beat, like a giant’s eye.
The furious paragraphs of postpunk
the speed of summer in this
Friday that began in the inner part
of your thighs, your back lined up
with all the southern buildings.

To long suddenly for a family business;
everything we yet ignore is home.