To start with, I made it through
a routine morning,
walked to the dry cleaner
without any trousers
admired my legs
with a woman in an SUV
(fresh air, the stink)
and read how everything
is meaningless, like a dream.
Nothing is real
least of all heartache,
rode the subway thinking
once you’ve learned
to love death
with your whole heart
you are free.
Walking to my office
a familiar homeless beggar
on the corner
Mario the doorman said
there are so many good things.
From “New York,” the latest poetry collection by Lucas Hunt, formerly of Springs. It will be out from Thane & Prose on May 2.