for Williamsburg
We are the people you sleep with
Moon scattered nights among the records
Obliterating boundaries in our worship
Our forms will live on forever until they pass.
Others look to us for limberness of limbs
For a sign of universal relaxation
In the way we wear our muscles and tattoos and shoes.
We are the people who get dragged home
This routine of expansion and contraction
Of sleeping until sleep is exhausted
Of proving that yes still works best.
There is a hidden basement downstairs
Where our angry hearts beat on strings singing
Don’t bond to the tides if the tides are not what you want.
We are the people who have invented UFOs
Telling our stories to keep you afraid at night
Our cross-currents of heartbreak and selfishness
Our riverside romances do not die easy.
Others wish to see if we float like witches
For a sign of the reality of damnation
Don’t look now if you want to go on believing as you do.
