is rudimentary at best. The light changes,
people get batty, that I know. Also, it's quieter,
with only an occasional car whooshing by.
A group of men leaving a bar
on Bergen Street emit an amplified, vaulted bellow.
People know how to be loud in the city.
Perhaps it is good to be giddy
and full of dread. I have friends who feel
it too. By giddy, I mean full
of agitated wonder, like maybe
we can really get things done
because we're organized and intelligent
and really freaked about everything happening.
Then, I get this very convincing idea
that I'm just a turd blossom
taking up too much room in my own space,
which is ridiculous, because there's nothing left.
And so this is: my understanding of this evening.