When I was young I saw euphoria

I learned to believe in pleasure

On an escalator in a bus station slowly rising into cascading light from high windows

Going to a great city

Can’t you feel the pull

Sprinting down Washington laughing in the downpour alone

For some clinking bottles of beer and a pack of gorgeously criminal cigarettes

To sit on my porch after work, with Elliott Smith in my ears, as I watched the storm break over Somerville

Again and again

Like a teenage heart in a rapture of misery

Through the seams of which joy is seen

Can’t you feel the pull

Thirteen

In the gleaming hard surfaces of a trump towers apartment

Lacquered ostrich eggs in a slick black bowl glass decanters mirrored bar whole walls of clear glass everything cool to the touch

Cars run all night on Madison in a ballet of secrets I can’t stop watching

Head to the cool glass thrilling to the mysteries of 4 am taxi cabs banking down the side streets

Casting everything in a new light every moment

Can’t you feel the pull

I could be more