The Little 

The smallest amount of time

Of distance 

From start to finish

From beginning to end

Fathering mile

To resting place

Over 3,000 miles on the earths face

We begin with a push

Knowing full well the end lies 

Far far ahead

But we push on

For me

Through poems and songs

From sea to shining sea 

From pale white to vivid blue

We see our journeys through

From the boroughs of the city

To the far west LA

Eternal summer fitting

A journey that teaches us to open

Rather than close

To grow

In what you learn

And what you know 

A Night in Brooklyn

“I will FUCKING KILL YOU”

The words bellow from the belly

Of the loosely dressed man

On Manhattan Ave

Across from Manhattan Inn

Enough vigor and resolute

To carry the words to my own

Windowsill

I crept to the window

The man seemed unwell

Ill

I couldn’t make it out the clear

Words strung about a 100 bill

“Why don’t you come over here”

“See who the real man is”

The street lights illuminate his

Contorted face

I pull back from the window screen

He glances in my direction

As he walks towards Manhattan Ave.

And Nassau intersection

I am fully engaged at this point

This rage within this man

Has the whole neighborhood up at

2 AM

Cars rumble past blurring

What was said

What was heard

I could only faintly here but a word

All this rage and anger

Over a C note

On that note I better get back to bed

Whatever he had said

It was life in the form of entertainment

I am not upset from the loss of sleep

Just tired

Whatever kept that man up

Had really shook him

On just another night

In Brooklyn

Thin Nights

The late night salute

4 AM

Late night eyes

To boot

We dance with our technology

Until the wee hours

Entangled in a web

On a web

Every last fiber in my head

Connected

Needing the next moment

I own it

This is the way I spend the hours

Working

Trying to connect the un connectable

While my head is full

Eyes bloodshot and wide

Hair frayed

Dismayed

Until my head is laid

This is the routine

I try to break out

But something new is always breaking in

There is no loss no win

Just spending every last hour

Until the night runs thin

The Bread Shop Stop

The scent of change

Came at 4 AM

I rolled over in my bed

“When was the last time

I smelled the fresh bread”

At this point I was completely

In my head

I knew the change was coming

The bakery was on its way out

I still had one small shriveled doubt

Maybe the planned buyout

Was not as good of a plan

They would develop a alternate route

As I lay awake

Thinking

It had been at least a week

So I cracked the curtain to take

A quick peek

The burnt carmel building

Was at a complete standstill

I could see this from

My windowsill

Never again would the smell of

Fresh bread bellow

Down Manhattan Avenue

It was a nice offset to bus exhaust

But now it is lost

Lost

Gone

I am new here

I own that I have very airy feelings

Where others die-cast old love

Would feel it in there hearts much above

I can remember

When my wife and I stopped in

Knocked on the door

A man came out from within

Gave him a 5 spot and

Us a loaf

We stood on the corner

Eating it whole

The memory was the brightest

Of the few short lived time

But the old place is gone

Make way for the condos

Pack it up and move on

A Kiss of Rushing Waves

The webs we weave

The dreams we chase

Unchaste and yet true

At first we were revered as outcasts

Not sure of the way

Decisions would see us through

We made a life in the city

Tried to keep our heads

Above the rushing waves

Staved off by a blissful kiss

Sea myst

Over our eyes

We saw the world

Around which we realized

That staying put

Was no option

No higher calling

Even when the walls

The dream itself

Was falling

We see it through

Another night spent

Late night chatter

Even thought nothing was really

The matter

We see it through

Me and you

Ignorance of Conscience

Once a wonderer

Now forever lost

Is possible to go far

And near

Yet never be settled

Running from love

Hope

Fear

It’s a game of chess

With no pieces

Or what is there

Must be interpreted

No meaning

No beginning

No end

I don’t understand

I can’t

When one lusts for every moment

Every fleeting thought

Nothing becomes concrete

No desire

Objectifying

Denying any sense of self worth

For what its worth

To claim ignorance

Fleeting thoughts from ones conscience

Delay rather than develop

Bringing all but hell up

With the loved ones around

It seems low

The life keeps swirling down

I ask

Futile in my attempts

So sometimes I just wonder

What is once a wanderer

Can be now

Forever lost

Sentimental Tease

Oh the heart strings

Pulled in every way

Frayed

Dismayed and overplayed

I relish past moments

With pleasure

Small delights

Love beheld in my eyes

Yet it is lies

Nothing more

Nothing less

Just a quest into the past

No answers given

No questions asked

But in a very uneasy way

There is always lust

In such great nostalgia

What is past is past

What is gone is lost

What I want I will take

What is left I will leave

It’s just another little

Sentimental Tease

Three rats, Food Stamps, and the Opportunity of a Lifetime

I heard the little guys squealing through the night

What was I supposed to do

Nothing else I could do

I had to trap them

Get them out

I woke in the morning as I would any other

Dreading a certain task that

Lie in my certain future

However this was a task

I loathed

This is New York and I have a renter coming in later

So sometimes I just have to

Thrust each foot

One in front of the other

I peak around the corner to discover

Not one, or two

But three rats entangled in a sticky mess

A sweet concoction

A paste

Tieing mouths, feet, and bodies to the goo

They writhed, and gnawed, up and down

Breathing fast as they could

Little did I expect what I saw

But quickly I understood

It was a small family all stuck there

I have no soft spot for rats

But I did feel a bit queazy

And I do have a renter coming in this afternoon

So off they go

Somehow an article of ours had been entangled in the mess

So I slowly worked the chord out

While the rats writhed more and shouted

Their high pitched scream

This is not the city I had grown up to know

But here I am with gloved on

Trying to pull chords off rat family

Entangled on a board of sticky sweetness

Not quite sure how I got here

So I dispose of the rat family

Breathe slow

And return to my day

My wife wakes up

We talk about the rats

I was not excited about the conversation

But I had taken care of it

The next topic on our minds

Food Stamps

I never thought we were that bad off

But somehow

The rats, the rent, the life

It comes at a price

That we are just coming up a bit short of

So we talk briefly about opportunities to eat

To have more food

“Seems like we are perfect candidates”

“Yea” I respond

“I don’t see why not”

This is all to the setting of the biggest looming opportunity

We have ever had in our lives

We have dedicated our lives to our art

Somehow opportunities are sometimes presented

Rather than sought

So as I sit at the piano to rehearse

I realize

My life

Somehow

As weird and dysfunctional as it can be

Makes sense

Certainly Uncertain

We are not creatures of perfection
By nature
Or nurture
We are malleable in form
From start to finish
I struggle with my own imperfect humanity
Trying to make the best of what I have
Having not the best to give
Unmistakably mistaken
Poured just short of perfection
In times just the simple reflection
Lets me know
That I am imperfect
Certainly uncertain
For my known unknowns
Are what what make
Me
Remarkably
Human