How high up am I? How many countless stories up, stories counted, stories skipped and kept? I could prick my finger on the Chrysler building, my tears could turn to snow, white on the black winter coats of the little people in the bustling streets, far below. In a sea of lights, how many miles in minutes have gone by, will go, are passing? How many stories up am I? All I can think of is you.
I am lost in those miles. I am a ghost on the crowded deck, thoughts weeks and months away. Surrounded, so why I am still alone?
Flash, a moment is captured. I’ve captured moments better. I look on over this center of the universe, teeming, bright and empty. Endless, but where is it going? It must go somewhere.Weak thoughts, improbable, seek to fill this vacancy. These masquerades are childish and strange.Am I a child? Where, what, why?