Vincenzo Anastasia

New York you greeted me at your ugliest twenty blocks deep you stripped my clothes soaked me glass-skinned so my impression was see-through we kept things classy we didn’t bruce lee feet sweep each other or pluck thorns from roses stand up, New York you’re more than this authors swing their hardest punches at you and always miss like this poem i wrote it and came back to prove its contents we made love amid the spaces of Bay blinds i sailed you paper-planes between the Windy City’s asthma attacks waiting for you to write me back i know i“Vincenzo Anastasia”

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