From the Fishouse

I need an image to begin
like the city needs another face

thrown to the pavement,
kneeled on and stained.

Hell’s Kitchen knows
how to welcome a stranger.

Wilde ones, let us forgive
the bitter pill delivered

with each finger shoved down.
Forgive tasting Judas. Forgive nothing.

Here is the bed, dark like a true beginning.

We all enter the body alone
and only once.

We do not get to stay.