A walk on the just opened stretch
of High Line is hardly

the wild side. If this is my lizard
brain jotting down

these notes, I may as well slam
back another mug

of black coffee, check the time
on my cell every ten

minutes, keep walking
into fragmented images,

unconscious hues
of primitive thought. I’ll stick out

a forked tongue to hail
a cab for the memory

of other rides and rest
stops to be secured.