My muse, oh maze, oh labyrinthine city,
I like you best with gray sky and darkened brow.
But your changing weather will not do—
days of sweaters in morning and tank tops at noon.
I prefer consistency in my friends,
but even your streets change names before they end.
Oh city whom i love to hate,
your people are all crazy. (You know that, right?)
And you, like a whore, give something up to each of them,
but to me you remain unyielding, unrelenting.
Your buses pass me at half-deserted intersections
when I’m not emotionally equipped for the rejection.