30 New York
I got a scarf, I got a scar on forty-second.
I lost my gloves, I lost my hands on thirty-fourth.
This city mapped its bloody streets in my blood vessels.
I carry now its mutant body in my own.
This city hides my secret code of your phone number,
A thrombus of your house in arteries of mine.
I lost my hands, I got a scarf when I had dialed,
Because without this wound, I couldn't get inside.
This city has your face, and it has my blood vessels.
It dials for me your seven-digit pulse of blood.
Its handless body has my skin stretched on your staircase.
Its footless body has your crossroad of my scar.