One More Autumn in New York

One More Autumn in New York

It was the autumn everyone changed their hair.
Back to what it was before. 
But it wasn’t the same. 
Because we weren’t the same. 
Though we said things to each other 
in the exact same ways.
And went to the same parties. 
And hated the same people. 
And pretended, of course,
that we hated no one 
and that our shoes made us happy
and that our coats kept us warm. 
The only inner peace (which is death) 
won’t be advertised in the Bible or billboards. 
Everyone wants you to be here.
Everyone wants to use you up
if they’re invited. If they can attend.