Dear Nada,

A walk to Russ Pizza for a slice takes about five minutes
at the corner of Messerole & Manhattan three
teenage girls in dark down jackets huddle together one
wipes her nose "But I only went out with him
because he has a card ... so I could get my cigarettes"
The rest of this depressing conversation is lost to me
as an ambulance rounds the corner lights flashing siren, etc.

I focus my attention on a plane as it appears over the horizon
of buildings on my right its silhouette against
an almost completely indigo sky I like the way this airplane looks
like a secret agent almost & I almost forget the nasty things
everyone's ever said to me people sometimes imagine they're writing
everyone else's biography I don't understand this plane either
there's something graceful or elegant about its apparent stillness

Someone's left the Daily News on a table I order read the headline
MY LIFE IN HELL Supermodel Kate Moss Talks about Drugs & Alcohol
the man behind the counter sings along with the radio
"I believe I can fly I believe I can almost touch the sky" he's very
earnest I try to imagine a life in Hell with Kate Moss
what would we say to each other? what do we have in common?
drugs booze both notably underweight "Hi do you want a hit off this?"

The counter's sticky to the touch I fish $1.50 from my pocket
I guess I'll wind up in Hell someday too I won't be seated
next to Kate Moss probably Russ Pizza will be there there'll be
photographs of Kate on the walls signed "I love your pizza
I'm sorry I used your restroom to stick my finger down my throat"
only pictures of rich or famous people will grace the walls
just like everywhere else just like Greenpoint Brooklyn

The teens have moved on from Messerole & Manhattan the slice
warms the palm of my hand soon it'll warm my belly
I wonder if you would still love me if I had a belly well would you
bother to make me speechless really I'm practically dead
without you tonight not even Laurie's Polish landlady
sticks her head out to acknowledge me climbing the stairs
if I lived here I'd owe her a lot of money but I don't what a relief

I have teeth and a tongue and use them to eat the pizza
it goes without saying they won't be used for anything else tonight
tho I'll chew on my memories of you even as they're fading
will you still love me when you arrive in New York if there's no heaven
we can live out our days out by the sea or near Coney Island
I imagine we'll live wild & tangled like seaweed
you smell like the ocean and used to come quickly I do remember

I have enough to eat I live in Brooklyn these are small miracles
I'm glad I bothered to think of them even as I think of you
are you the same person you were yesterday I like to think so
tho it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't like the airplane I hear
out Laurie's window is not the same one I saw earlier nothing's perfect
if it were there'd be no room for improvement o quickly
imagine me no longer writing this to you but home

Seen from one corner of the room folding this page up standing
& walking it over to you "Here" where you sit reading something
you take your eyes from to see me standing above you
handing you this letter folded neatly but in haste wanting you
to take this from my hands how warm they are now I've eaten
will you think of lovers as you read this will you read me
as a lover reads noon & wind and not as someone wanting something

Brooklyn fades Laurie's apartment disintegrates everyone's had
a bad time none of this is anything but words
from the biting-mouth part of your lover his nakedness
seen thru like a jungle or tangle of seaweed he being only the I
it's darkest against there is nothing to say about him
but what's been said here no account without meaning
like this world your eyes glow in amber is open all night lost by me.