I like the completeness here. The rhythm of the process of coming to be where the feet are. I don't know for certain, of course, but I think many people have this experience. When only one thing, and so often a painful thing, attaches you to a place. When a pain becomes the closest thing to you.
(Side Note: This is often a symptom of deep depression. As horrible as it is I've seen many people resist doing anything to make it go away. I don't think it's conscious, very little is when you're catatonic, but it's something that has to be acknowledged. I just went through pushing a man to get treatment.)
Sorry to be distracted but perhaps it isn't much of a distraction. The nowness of the place, the dog, always a dog, and a chair that is old and creaks are companions leading you into being a "grateful outcast." I like that lots.
My one question is the ending. I'm not 100% convinced you need the last stanza. I know you need a last line for the penultimate stanza but I'm not sure about entering the election stuff. I thought about ending the stanza like this:
"on that Isle of Media I (once? call(ed) home.
My faithful toothache haunting my jaw."
It's a mere suggestion. To dive into NYC politics threw me a bit.
Outside of that, I think taking a little time off writing poems served you well.
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