Exile in NYC

Everyone is lonely now
which is strange
given the shortage of space
and the availability
of dancing shoes
at discount prices.
At night the ambulances mourn,
a wailing classical chorus,
countless tragedies
incidentally weaving
through my thin dreams.
I did not leave
any forwarding information,
no number or address,
and still you won’t call
or reply to my unsent letters,
for the best I guess
as there is no fireplace,
no flames to consume your words
in my tiny room.