New York is making me ill
with every taxi that passes me by
with every night I spend on your floor
with every subway station closed.
I found a map, on the floor of the plane
that brought me over to you.
I've been following it for hours now,
and still all the buildings leer down at me.
There's a fever in my blood
from injections they told me to have
There's a bandage on my side
from the papercuts you scratched onto me.
I'm spending my days drinking in public
from a brown paper bag mistake
I sit in parks, and alleys, and streets
and wait for the taxis to take me away again.