This is something I strung together after arriving in New York, around 2004.

RL Fifield, 2012.

Around the Neck

In the teeming urban underthicket
A simmer eludes us,
Writhing behind shades drawn
Mistaken and squirming.

Enthusiasm bruises
Blue and so painful
the minute luxuriates on hot faces,
Ticking tenderly through the emptiness.

The necklace twists tighter at my throat
Wincing pinch of link and stone
as dessert yields silence, dry cake with old jam,
forced sweet in the layers.

Jarring clatter
Garnets spill over floorboards stained with
Wine we have not spilled, glasses
We have not shattered.
The street’s chatter and scrape scoffs this heave
And I won’t inhale.

Cling quiet in the filigree chill.
Doors squeal on hinges and
Clasp again its jamb, the stairs push away.
Stream solitary through indifferent
January snap,
Goading and bitter empty.

Monday gray
Girding expectations, avoided insinuations,
and coffee armament,
Artery rattling.