New York Room

City lights illuminate bleakness and for the first time I notice the starless, gray blanket who masquerades as sky.

GRRRR, revs one engine.
VROOM, another.

I want to yell back, but I'm gagged by a Carbon Dioxide chokehold who squelches my words and scratches my gums, drawing blood from my lips and cheeks.

From within dark New York Room I hear echoes of shrieks emitted by cars, trains, and gasping humans. I hear desperate musings cawed by mudsliding protestors. I hear poverty and I hear smoke-signals.

But all I can do amidst this chaos is listen, listen, listen and hope the cartwheeling skyscrapers don't spin and scrape deep holes in the floor, holes bicyclists can unknowingly pedal into, and then free-fall, heavy hearts dragging them chest-first towards isolation.

RIIIING, adds a church bell,
or was it a cell-phone?