Before New York City

Before New York City
(Brogan/Gray)

Head in my hands in the left
field stands at the Tigers and Mets.
Dance away my divorce and run
around town with anyone who would
take me in. I’m not too choosey about
the company I keep or whose apartment
I’m in when I fall asleep, but I met you
at a Village dive and because of your shirt
called you “my sweet Cobain.”

Couldn’t part my hair right
before New York City.
Didn’t spend my nights right
before New York City.
Wouldn’t live my life right
without New York City.
But I’m there,
and I’m there
and I’m there.

It was 1994 and we sat on the floor
by my locker after study hall. Or, were we
sketching out plans behind the football stands
trying to make sense? The obvious choice
for our generation’s voice was gone, gone,
gone. We sorted through the pain, tried to dance
it away and now it’s finally fine, my sweet Cobain.

Couldn’t part my hair right
before New York City.
Didn’t spend my nights right
before New York City.
Wouldn’t live my life right
without New York City.
But I’m there,
and I’m there
and I’m there.

To make a living with words seemed
so goddamned absurd when I found myself
at Jasper Ridge. Or the Brooklyn
Bridge where we had both dreamed we would
sit talking Whitman and Hart Crane.
I walked there after class with my umbrella on my arm
and just savored the rain. Having a voice is a difficult
choice, my sweet Cobain.

Couldn’t part my hair right
before New York City.
Didn’t spend my nights right
before New York City.
Wouldn’t live my life right
without New York City.
But I’m there,
and I’m there
and I’m there.

From the Lower East Side clubs to the Brooklyn pubs
this place is goddamned insane. Jammed into subway
cars, a town without stars, making out
under a sky of circling planes. Where we both
dreamed we would stand and hold someone else’s
hand and forget some past space, some past pain.
Sitting in your place with wine and Nevermind
for days upon days, my sweet Cobain.

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