Central park

Someone told me
"Pain is fuel,
But you don't need that to write,
son"

A perfect day is medication
the nation of the pharmacy
groans under my featherweight
and no catacomb's claws
or gravity of concrete
can touch me
forever
or for these hours
or whichever lasts longer.

I float with the gush of subway grills
and everything belongs to me
because I am poor.

I can't give a care about a catcher on 5th ave.
there is no cancer.
I uninvent Prozac.

100 pigs on motorbikes
can slide thru our park
like salted slugs
and home to their hiding places
and I can't give a care about slugs on Park ave.

I sit on ancient lava
I walk on newly seeded lawns
I drink shots of vodka
with a beautiful woman
and I am not cold.