Leaving

the words are frozen to my tongue
tonight.
here in front of my violet Remington,
amphitheatre of metal letters, relief
eludes me
there is no playing of this field
tonight.

on sullivan street
in the shadow of the towers
in this small cavern of an apartment
where street light shines my skin
day glow and translucent
like those scientific images of babies in the womb
and all I can do is
listen
to the wailing of the fire trucks
in Chinatown, sound of horror instead of alarm,
and I watch
as a ghost makes its way across the crumbling walls
of this apartment, that I hardly recognize
in this light.