The city that never sleeps started to ​ become drowsy, ​ Those that could scurried away as the Apple fell asleep. ​ Holding tightly to the knowledge it's everyone's strife, ​ Will the world return to its old ways? ​ Causing a shortage of tissues.

I'm like a ​ memory lost from when you were a kid ​ sweet and sticky hands from a popsicle ​ stick ​ fire flies in a jar; hot hair; yellow bits ​ corn between your teeth; a comfy voice ​ someone you miss #JasperSoloff# #Poems

I was eleven years old when I made that mask. ​ Every Saturday afternoon my mother took me to Mrs. Tanaka’s art studio in Manhattan, where she taught arts and crafts to children like me. Every weekend we commuted from Westchester, which usually took us more than an hour, nevertheless I was always excited about the train ride and being in Manhattan. I remembered stepping into Grand Central Station for the first time, where I chased a pigeon that had flown into the hall. I reme