The great elephant in the sky
has Kerouac's bow fingers in
place of tusks, but they're just
as white, and pure, and coveted.

The twin nails tickle the bright
crescent chin and the sensitive
sky opens up with forced laughter,
like the soporific chortles of sour couples.

The clock smiles down at the shaky
window crosses from the Times Square
watch tower.

Everyone is as happy as Love's
first day at school as all knowledge
drops to the city's subconscious, leaving
empty arms for sin's safety net.

The great elephant has been purged
of weighty inhibitions and it dances
drunkenly over the heads of the willingly
pale, breaking them in for future freedom.

And the city yawns a subtle rejection, deflating and propelling
the great floating ego into the shifting West winds.

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