New York State Of Mind Poem by Chris Purser

When I exit the halls of my birth,
and come out into the commonplace
I sigh and place my mind on
the scene at hand

A dry garden of stone, glass and metal
is layed out in a scintillating display.
While, the sky, like coils of Italian wine,
drift above and betray the Industrial settings...

Detritus litters the hovels below,
where steel dragons roar and rage to take
their work-bound passengers from street to street.
Birds, circle the scenes and patrol the lowly humans.

A collection of people crowd the city door,
and crash over the waves of the grimy East River,
to enter their stations and work beneath
oppressing corporates

Chic sorceresses exit the palatial hotels,
with unnaturally long cigarettes and Manolo boots.
They sport the Breastplates of Giorgio Armani,
the cape of Gucci, the gauntlets of Louis Vuitton,
the helmets of Prada, and the war-paint of Estee Lauder.

This Empire, called New York City, is all I live for.
Throughout this time, I take an hour or two to sit in my special spot.
A lush garden, filled with leaves that glint like jade,
and silty waters with a silky-blue surface.

Central Park is all I need.