<tate's "contagion"> 2006-08-16.2:31 p.m. Contagion James Tate When I drink I am the only man in New York City. There are no lights, but I am used to that. There are the staircases that go forever upward like the twisted branches of a cemetery willow. No one has climbed them since prohibition. And the overturned automobiles stripped to their skeletons, chewed clean by the darkness. Then I see the ember of a cigarette in an alley, and I know that I am no longer alone. One of us is still shaking. And has led the other into some huddle of extinction. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad