So, from here in New York tonight, I have no photo to upload. Rather, this is a kind of Groundhog Day for me. I am reliving last week, in the same place, trying to figure out how or even whether I could get it right this time around. At this hour, there are so many people congregating on the roof of my hotel, engaging in merry-making, that I cannot stand being up there.
They are much too happy, and clueless, for the likes of me.
I am seeking poetry. What do I mean by that? I mean language spoken truthfully and economically. Language that hurts and heals the soul.
There are too many voices here in New York City for a person like me. Don't get me wrong; I love my time here. That I am back so soon after my last visit is a shock. It is opportunistic, unexpected, and very weird.
If I believed in the idea of God, maybe I would posit that she sent me back here, to reclaim or rediscover whatever it was last week that I lost.
Non-fiction cannot help me now, so I must grow quiet..."
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