why does everything seem differently the same?
why do I cruise down the same pathways and avenues
expecting a change in scenery?
a different destination?
its never different
nothing truly is
here lies apathy
it worried itself life
siting on the same couch on its front lawn
more like patch of broken dreams
recoiling from the same sting
of the same whiskey it buys
everyday at 3 pm
winking at the same passerbys 
conducting the same symphony
in the studio of its mind
where is the afternoon?
lost somewhere between 
the beginning and the end of a gutted cigar
refilled with merry times 
and sutured by drying tongues
ashes of former prominence litters the ground
and it’s soul
there it sits
catching a change glimpse at itself 
in the puddle of its discontent
a pond of its own undoing
ignoring it’s reflection
watching its own urine creek down the face 
and into the slits in between the sidewalk panels
they’re cracked
but not as much as it is
thirsts whetted by the night 
memories emboldened by the sight
of stop signs and dead ends
four right turns 
and three left
that is 
the life we live
that is 42nd street
we are
42nd street