Decorum in the face of wondrous urbanity

J'ai vu New York.

New York, U.S.A.











I've seen your sacred buildings..














Your odes to backdoor action, etched in stone doorways along nameless northbound streets.














And structures. Large, impressive odes to domination, and not in a hubristic sense. More of a "Take this fucking shit" way.













I also ate a hot dog with onions, ketchup, and mustard for breakfast, at the south named pier/mall structure from which, on a clear day, you get Lady Liberty's left side. This taken slightly north of said destination.

Said repast of champions led to a desperation-defying celebration of Ameri-testinal fortitude and Red Blooded, Sleeve Rolling, Bible-Thumping Beattitude manifested in the Eagle Statue of Battery Park..


















.. In front of which roams the night-gauntesque Beast of Battery Park, the Turkey Looking Thing...













.. who has been known to roam near the official outdoor lavatory of north-east Battery Park, where, due to the aforementioned gastrointestinal negligence at breakfasttime, I decanted a certain family's kids for their afternoon swimming rendez-vous.














Then, walking, I strolled into America. America looked at me, smiled, and said "Money. America. Have some."

I gladly supped from its bulging teet.














My Native New Yorker co-worker asked me"Did you go see the 9/11?"



The prophet of Ground Zero.










To Strawberry Fields, the segment of the Grand Park whose name, and, of course, existence, celebrates John Lennon.

The rains fell. Fifty yards in front of these folk, one would find yet another decantment. Fleeing the rain, various men without homes took to the stalls of all the public restrooms.













Chocolate Covered Strawberry Fields.

And now, I can truly, and without pretense state, that I, Dear Reader, have been laid down..













.. Like a Bridge over Troubled Water.