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
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
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
Eyes slap open
With the crack of the jackhammer
It’s 9 AM
Monday in the City
I rush over to close the small gap
In the window
The loud crash of shovels
Iron cast on asphalt
Giant machines with splendid
Saws, jacks, and hammers
Traffic held back
While the men hit the ground
With cement hammers
The window to the city
Has shown so much to me
It is a true story
Yet an untold anomaly
Of jackhammers
I grew up in the soft quiet fields on Indiana
Acquaint myself
To the new sounds
Of my surroundings
Thank God for public transportation
This revelation
Is one of the finest gems
The beauty of the capital of the nation
We are able to move swiftly
Through station
Feet connected to floors
Cold and eternally soaked
To the floorboards of the railcars
A collective quiet continuum
Running from face to face
Some disinterested
Wearing discontent well on their face
Underneath the city
There is a currency of space
Being given and taken
Awarded and mistaken
The sole private goal
Of a seat on a reasonable Subway
Some would just rather pay
Because there is always the lingering
Unreasonable chance
That the cart is filled in advance
But we stagger on
With the commidty of space low
Take it slow
Get on the train
Pull away,
Go
In hopes of doing good
Doing everything you should
Stood proper ready for arrival
But in between every single line
Stands the true test of mankind
Finitely undivine
Some poor fellow with bright light
Shines upon a small error
Eroded and undone
Your lips begin to tighten
As you realize you have failed
At this one chaps small finding
I strive for the perfection
Perfection as far as my detection
But there will always be
Other perspectives
That feel less connected
Intersected with our vision
Even though I do my best
With good will and intention
There is nothing that can prevent
This holier than thou
Intervention
At the creaking of dawn
Semis bustle through the Avenue
Men with covered faces
Lift heavy loads unto empty spaces
Filling slowly with goods for shipment
Equipment, papers, dies, casts
I sometimes wonder what is in the
Buildings just over the Ave.
So much mystery
Only 5 feet from me
Whether they are transporting toxic chemicals
The smells
Oh the smells
The streets outlined with built mounds
Of snow
Paths created from where the tires roll
I have this realization
That I really know so little about my neighborhood
My nation
And it all came to me
From my view
On Manhattan Avenue
Sometimes the flow
Is easier
Or more clear
At least
It feels a little more
Like a hampster
Than a wretched beast
–
Feast on these times
When flow comes barreling in
In from the high sky
The noon hour
Or the late night
Capture and release
No hold
Please give back
Whatever it is you are leased
–
I have a quick smile on these
Days
When work feels more like play
I remembered the feeling
The feeling of rampant creativity
From the lows of procrastination
Stagnations now creates re-inflation
For the seed of creativity is not gone
It has hid for long
But Brooklyn
Lit with smoke high
I have found my breathe again
Amidst an organe sky
A Cup of Songwriting 