In my kitchen there are mottled clouds
on the ceiling, puddles of light
on the floor. New York City never really

gets dark & I try to find comfort
in that we’re all standing or sleeping
in the same half-light. Before

the sun comes up my heart
is quiet. Afterwards the blood drains from
the streetlights & it’s time to wonder

what words to say, what thoughts to think,
how to hold my hands when standing in line
at the grocery store. Trying to find the correct

amount of change in my pocket I find
only keys: the keys to my house & my office &
my car & plus lots of other keys

I don’t know what they’re for anymore.
But doesn’t it just seem wrong to throw away
old keys, like throwing away an old ID or baby photos

or even money? Yeah, money. No,
listen. Because someday you may find yourself
throwing away a vast amount of money,

an infinite amount.

I’m not kidding. & I don’t mean like,
“You know, to not be thoughtful about what you buy
is to throw your money away.” I mean that someday

you’re going to be homeless &
penniless & heartless—you actually think
this won’t happen to you, don’t you?—and someone

is going to come along & offer
to cover it all. She’ll hand you those crisp bills,
more money than you can even say,

& there won’t be any strings attached.
Can you imagine that? & as you watch
those notes tremble in your soft hand,

at some point you’re going to be sorely tempted
to throw the gift down, ground it down with your heel,
then run away & never look back. It’s going to feel

necessary. So delicious. You’ll want it like air
or death or love. It’s going to be bigger than you,
so you’ll really have no choice. But still, I’m begging you,

Please: Don’t do it.