Why would you
brand a hill? The one

with an observatory
watching over it. Where

Jim Carroll told us
to go look at

the fuckin’ stars. Some
of my friends

have died now too.
I get it. Don’t beat up

the mascot cardinal.
We don’t make fun

of your chicken. Okay,
maybe we do.

If I could access
those tunnels again, would I

lose my bearings? My
mind? My swag? A swirl

of graffiti palimpsest
marks the walls—walls

as noisy
with ghosts as those
in Ellis Island station.

I would call it
a bad trip
or underground saudade. If

I had a way in. I am relieved
I don’t.