Explore Poems: Cities & Urban Life

when trees bend funny and out of shape
when lightblue skies turn blueblack gray
hungry winds will
knock…

I want to ask you if you ever wanted to leave.
If you can see yourself living somewhere other than here…

Rightsized for the mi
lieu, sensorily super
human (and who’s to say how else). Leapt lengths
in single …

It wasn't even around Pentecost
  and nothing was flowering
  but it was an overheated day
  mid-February & mid-town...

It makes me glad to watch a fox
cross the road as I drive at night
through the city after a party.
I admire…

These days, the plants are overtaking the plants,
abandoned factory packing centers overgrown

with …

seven hills beckon
the sun to a dance. two steps
forward, another to the left. kongas powder

their …

"A car" "awash with blood" "Blood at our feet" "& I
& others" "have small springs" "of blood from our…

Morning in the city and the performance
that is Madison Avenue wearing diamond
studs for breakfast, my…

All the second-gen immigrant Berkeley moms somehow all
went to Stanford. I’m laughing because
I want to…

In the Union Square subway station nearly fifteen
years ago now, the L train came clanking by
where …

Why do people always choose saturdays
to wig out
I mean the ones who scream leave me alone
i hate your…

i am new york city
here is my brain of hot sauce
my tobacco teeth my
     mattress of  bedbug tongue
legs…

The city lies back in its winding-sheet
While little digits drum a steady beat

On roofs and terraces, …

And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
and I mount the…

I had taken him to his mother
and was returning along the D8.
In the breakdown lane several cars, and …

When relatives came from out of town,
we would drive down to Blackbottom,
drive slowly down the congested…

We sat in the narrow plaza filled
with metal tables by the construction site.
It was warm, around 5 pm, one of those
evenings after a long winter where
the city seemed to be anxiously flowering.
Several acquaintances rode by on bicycles.
There was a line...

It was the prophets and the seers, they were the ones
who anointed my city holy—Kingston of dust and stone,
Kingston haunted by the ghosts loitering in the pens,
the enslaved...