Saturday, January 11, 2020, somewhere near Penn Station.

I want a kind of love

that makes me shout from the streets of New York City.

The kind that makes other people talk

because I’m yelling something like,

“Screw you.”

I want a kind of love

that forces you to “take your bags and get out,”

something that makes me shout,

“Oh, Christ, you have the keys. Give me your keys.”

Something that makes me believe

in karma.

Something that lets me know

there’s something out there for all of us,

but this just ain’t it.

I want a kind of love

that makes me shout from the streets of New York City

so loudly

that someone, somewhere, writes a poem about me.