An amateur attempt at poetry

Hi everyone, I took my place observation piece from a few weeks ago and attempted to turn it into a poem as I felt like it didnt' really lend itself to prose. But this is officially my first foray into poetry so I am starving for feedback (and brutal honesty!). It's about the apartment (American for 'flat' :) I lived in Brooklyn during post-uni years. And it doesn't have a title. Suggestions?


Apartment 67, 20 Butler Place.
Behind a sensible green door
It contains inside it the City
In which it is contained
The City of Superlatives.
Where Outsiders form the corps of Insiders.
Big Dreamers stunted by their own dreams
Waiting to exhale
Only to inhale more, more, more
And survive on
The headiness of too much oxygen, too much opportunity
Where normalcy is suspended,
A City in permanent liminality.

The revolving door of 20 Butler Place.
The event horizon absorbing all matter into
Its dazzling vortex
Dizzying overstimalation.
Endearing clutter.
Random bric-a-brac.
Pink plastic flamingo
Art Nouveau posters
The one with the cat
Antique mosaic lamp
The contents of the Old Curiosity Shop thrown up
All over the living room.
Sickly sweet scent
Of overripe rubbish.
Grungy old couch
Second, or third, or fourth-hand
Not for sitting, for hosting
The preoccupations of the day
Or the psuedo squatters
Vistors, homeless friends, drunken mistakes
Cosy-colored walls
Enclose the clutter
Sunny crayon yellow, lickable peach, cool-blooded turquoise
A children's playroom reading by parents undecided,
About their child's gender or temperament

The opposite of darkness
More navigable the less you can see

A modern day Rent
Outbreak less HIV and more existential angst
The tricky business of no boundaries

Whereabouts of household items as fluid as
Life plans
Lightbulbs
Next to oatmeal
Second drawer
Curious method to the madness
Organized Chaos
Coded for 'insiders'

23 flatmates in three years
Or perhaps 24
Lost count in the double digits
Insulated from what we feared most:
Settling into a mundane complacency
Everyday an excavation
Of past lives
Previous tenants
Ken-doll British male model
His guilty pleasures of calculus and opera
Lovable West Coast gap-year kid
Needs toilet training
Belgian-Congolese world music drummer
Red-headed, long-limbed environmental perfectionist
Suicidal poet and her bubbling cauldron of
Culinary delights and crazy ideas
Venezuelan economist
Uptight Israeli financier
With his bed in the kitchen
Bisexuals, Monosexuals
Professionals, Unprofessionals
Idealists and Idealized

Sharing milk with strangers
Otherwise inaccessible
Revolving door of Apt 67
Revolving gates of New York City
Rotating beaters of an electric mixer
Whipping together unlikely ingredients