Cabbage and The Uncomfort of Life

I didn’t want to do it

I guess I kind of had to do it

Shit we do to make it through

Renting out half the space

The rat race isn’t even

Half way through

The smell of cabbage in the morning

Warning that the uncomfort of life

Is seeping through

It wild the way we hustle

People bustle

Plan for the next month

Once again feeling uncomfortable

But I guess in a city

Where rules are only enforced

Rather than exist

This small task I complete

To make it through the month

Cause if not I call it quits

And back on the road I’ll be

With only half my wits

I’m not running some grand hotel

Not even a bed and breakfast

Just trying to make time with no roomates pass

The hosting seemed to be the only option

In a city

Where the Attorney General

Might be hot for me

But I guess I’m damned if I do

Damned if I don’t

It’s New York City

The only answer I can not give

Is

I won’t

Unconscious Desiring; An Ode

Unconscious desiring

Subconscious manifesting

Hoping on some dream

Of breaking out of the cycle

Money in

Money out

Dinner bought

Rent Owed

I wish to make it out

Even to the middle class

But these days

Not even the middle class

Can pass

The boundary

Set up in our system

Of class

The city tells me there is no middle

Either you own

Or are owned

There is not much between

The filthy rich

And the much lesser known

Hustling makes you feel alright

But SOMETIMES

It just is not enough

To get you off the ground

For a bigger flight

So my ode is this

I’m not trying to hit it big

Or swig Courvoisier from the jar

I’m just trying to get by

With a little extra to put away

Living for today

So this is my ode

I have nothing more to say

Ring the Brownstones

“You do this every God damn time!”

Exclaimed the man

Hands half thrown in the air

While he ripped the door of the old van

Open

“Fucking Bullshit – that is what it is!”

His head full of dark hair slightly covered

With a Yankees hat

Strewn to the right

The short stout man

Flung the back door of the transport van

Wide open

Hoping to rip it from the hinges

Anger, rage, discontent, dismayed

His voice rang up through the brownstones

Like a choral chamber in a church

He disappeared into the van

Throwing out both one more explicative

Cargo equipment

His friend walked drooped at the shoulders

Slowly recovering the bulls rage thrown

“I’ll tell them what I am going to do”

I wipe my eyes for the first time

It is 7 AM on Manhattan Ave.

This is not unusual

But rather more intense than not

I pull my face close to the glass

Feeling the winter cold briefly pass

My nose

Must be cold out there I think

Unfortunate soul

Throwing out the kitchen sink

But all on a good Tuesday morning in Brooklyn

Now

Back to work

Simple Flake

The time it takes

For one simple flake

To make its way

Down the streets of New York

Falling carelessly to the ground

Over the Empire State

Shoveling below

Cracking sound

Filling the streets with heavy

Steady and steady

Falling so hard

I can barely make out

One World Trade

In a storm for the ages

Barren isles of food in the store

We bear down the hatches

And get ready

For just a little more

Light Ambition

The delicate dance of the squirrel

Through the pine clippings

In McCarren Park

Through the light and

Through the dark

With such light ambition

To find a simple treat

Prance along the sidewalk

Just finding something to eat

Resilience comes in not only humans

In New York City

It even has tough squirrels

Fighting tough

But still seemingly

Elegant and pretty

I can only imagine the scraps

Of the city streets

Instead of lush woods

Would be much easier to find

Whats next to eat

But yet the squirrel carries on

In his speckled gray coat

His eyes just seemed wide

Full of hungered ambition

And hope

Every Blistering Second

Every blistering second

Count down from 10 to nine

Hold my breathe

I think it will be alright

Nine to eight

Walk forward again

Push through the door

Early rather than late

Eight to seven

Straighten myself up

Give all I am given

Seven to Six

The frustration and challenge

Getting worn in

Just for kicks

Six to five

Hold my head up

Stay alive

Five to four

Only 3 more

Four to three

Look everyone in the eye

From your heart let it be

Three to two

Now I am alone here

I must see this through

Two to one

One more and I am done

One to zero

Manhattan Avenue

On a Tuesday afternoon

I start to feel my hope slip away

Just a bit

It’s that tiny voice it will say

To drudge on in a world uncertain

Don’t give up now

Please don’t pull the curtain

But when I walk down the street

My heart heavy in my chest

The little voice can’t be heard

Can’t be heard anymore

Even when I give it my best

I try to reinvigorate what may be lost

Walking on Manhattan Ave

Damn rents got me down

On such high costs

That I just have to focus on breath

In and out

I can make it through this day

I have not one doubt

I must rekindle the light words

That once rung in my ears

What was once a mighty roar

I just now barely hear

Complicated Maneuvers

There it is

Spilled my coffee again

In a rush

To make it out

Into the thin

Brittle cold air

Of a New York morning

I reset myself

I should give them some forewarning

Grab some paper towel

I’m already 10 minutes late

If the G is on time that is

My mind begins to race

Such a simple morning

Now turns into complicated maneuvers

I watch the bright white paper towels

Turn to a more rusted out brown

Take a sip of my coffee

Then set it down

In the trash and out the door

I hear the train horn

I run down the stairs

In the old turnstile

With the attendant half asleep

Make the train

Only by a couple of feet

Satisfied Corruption

Satisfied corruption

Don’t take someones word

On automatic assumption

Humanity will rise and fall

Some will tell the truth

Others a false call

Will ring on every persons ears

The willing or unable

Confident or full of fear

It is this small eruption

Will ill will

Built in conjunction

When you are on the receiving end

Beaten down

Will and resilience must not bend

It will happen on a Monday

Or Today

Or any day

For the needs of the liar

Will surely set

Your belly on fire

Certain Quiet

A Sunday morning in the city
The guys and girls
Sleeping in
From Saturday night
Getting pretty
The overachievers getting up
Getting to church
The streets have a certain quiet
A feeling of recovery
While the artists
Are up early
Catching great views
Hanging out window cells
And shooting
Music videos