A Moon Full of Honey: 1. New York

You, New York, are an animal procreating with itself. 

Don’t let them take you. Don’t let them take you. 

You, New York are varied and all the colours of this and that and you want to differentiate like a being that has sex with itself and makes its own gorgeous instagrammable babies. 

You are a self-perpetuating affair— 

a city in love with itself

but not pedestrian like Narcissus 

but like like 

the Mangrove Killifish that is all sexes 

and, when it is ready and in love and waiting for more from the world, 

simply makes more of itself 

by making love to itself. 

You don’t need anything but the parts that make you up and feed on you and produce you and practice you. 

You are love in abundance creating abundance, 

seducing yourself with your grit

and the smell of your garbage

and the fact that you can go all night

to produce that magnificent BO. 


You are walking into a restaurant at 1am and having someone say in the bathroom, “Do you mind if I tuck your tag?” 

And then making that tag tucker your friend. 

You are a tag tucking city. 

Brazen but that’s what we do for each other. 


You are every part of nourishment. 

You are the feeding tube as well as the thing being fed. 

You are all the poem-words glued together with the sweat of your subway stations so far underground. 

You are so far underground. 

You are so underground and also big open skies everywhere like an ocean. 

And the sweat on my skin is the ocean the ocean. 

You are tunnels of ocean between concrete and light. 


Don’t let them take you, City. 

Don’t let them take you. 

We’ve got you. 

Sure, you’re independent and self-reliant and cute, 

but sometimes you need a friend. 

So here’s the thing, we’ve got you. 

Don’t let them take you. Don’t let them take you. 


You are the Highline. 

You are the Highline, New York. 

Where grassroots create gardens in the sky. 

Where a voice can sing America the Beautiful 

at a mural so colourful that it reminds you. 

Through this accident. 

Through this abuse. 

Through slaves and riots and oppression and oppression and oppression. 

Through all of this stamping. 

You are beautiful like a glistening war wound.

You are whatever could have ever happened happening, 

the colour of all this here now with all the 

languages and love and all of the 

rabbits out of hats—through despite because of—

all of this. 


Don’t let them whitewash you, New York. 

You’re not mine, but you’re definitely not theirs. 

Whitewashing looks shit on all things and will be catastrophic on you. 


Stay your kind of Mangrove Killifish. 

Continue. Continue. Continue. 

Keep loving yourself. 

Keep procreating through yourself. 

You are a Killifish. 

Don’t let them drain that colour from your skin. 

Don’t let them. 

You are you are you are, unapologetically, you are. 


Don’t put barbed wire around Coney Island. 

Don’t slap an English track over that symphony of languages. 

Don’t let this fear win. 

Don’t let it don’t let it don’t let it. 


I love you, you Killifish city. 

We love you for spawning us as part of your circus. 

We love you for letting us sweat in your gills. 

Don’t let them take you. Don’t let them take you. 


There are poachers around who want your scales to hang as jewels around their neck. 

You are not a hunting trophy. 


You are the Mangrove Killifish. 

Don’t let them take you. 

Don’t let them take you. 

Don’t let them hunt you. 


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