Tokyo Rose

From your apartment nothing can be hidden,
the flat-iron lunatic, this liner captain,
shirks his duties and descends to you,
through many stairways and leaves the cat to steer.
It's light and Sunday though you forget
the world is you and friends,
and so you live unconcious.
The ground is opening, has opened sometime
and all the city lives below in steam.
You own the world, creating everyone.
You are Siwa, Dewi-Sri, the flying God of rice,
alone with geysers falling from the Battery
to Central Park.

The giant country falls away from you,
like relativity and you a torch beam,
bend the city, shorten time and nothing hides,
your light shines everywhere.

Here we find you and you asleep
between the fruit that whispers.
It used to wake you, leaving you with flashing green,
the evil numbers high and missing you, the last insomniac,
a sleeping whiteness, still tiny like a table doll,
an immigrant, a Catholic, God-daughter of the spaceman.

Thanksgiving marker pulled through Christmas
into New Year's Day, an acid ending
to your slacker magic.,
your foreign money, your democrat tycoon,
so new so bright.

The Planet's end has fallen with your city
tilting into newer seasons,
careeing through your early disk,
for Penguin dreams and stranger things.,
the life of Gods, Oh these city gods,
the blackness in your face this evening.
You have a blank, bright neon face,
a white room, clean but still blank.