Fast Impact

Fast impact

With little for sustain

Sustenance or compounded frame

How can we be so quick

To change

Change judgement

Words

Rearrange meanings and then

Come back to the same

What is it that can revolve

A door then disappear in moments

How can this happen overnight

Into the bright light

No one has it right

No one has it right

 

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The Rally Cry of the Tired

The rally cry of the tired

A worthy cause flamed out with vigor

Passing floating rolling

I have tried

To do good

Good to be undone

So much has to rely on a rally cry

When your tired

And lonely

Not alone

You feel sad

Disconnected from the world

How did it work out not the way it was

All planned

A plane in flight unmanned

The plane now is in the final descent

It will land

How

Unknown

But through all of this

I

We

Have grown

Grown up

So here we come

11:57

11:57 The clock reads

Momentary and sedentary

I return to the road

We travel so often

Yet so unfamiliar

Unusual

The hope of unity

A collection of ideas

Almost perfect

But perfect in its imperfections

It has beauty despite moments

Of Lack of direction

Proceed on our journey

To find people

To share moments and peace

This is my idea to bring

Just on the Outskirts

Bradley is a happy man

He falls asleep on the island

To the sound of a bellowing fog horn

Cutting through the air as rich as worn leather

He awakes to coffee that envelops him

With a hug

Rather than a mere raspy handshake

He is content on the coast

Billowing up steam from a morning roast

Falling asleep as the fog crosshatches the eve sky

Across the bay

Happy till the day he may day

Rent control his eternal protection

Umbrella’s held in rather polite distinction

Humanity’s bustle he has no strict participation

Watching the sunrise

Heightened by windy anticipation

However the wind blows

On the edge of the sleepy little beach town

Bradley has it right

Bradley is a happy man

Just on the outskirts of San Fran

 

Second Crack Sound

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The fleet of beans

From all over the world it brings

A cup to hand

An arithmetic of modern invention

Shipped all over with modest intention

From the solid green

To a hollow black and brown

The second crack sound

A record taste of tremendous body

Not to be deceived or forgotton

With authority flavors delivered

A coffee from Burundi has me completely

Enthralled

 

 

Back to Brooklyn

The smell of linens

Warmed hot in driers

Lamp post

Stuck with weekend fliers

Rusted out steel on buildings facade

Bustling traffic on Kenmare

I make my way to the Williamsburg Bridge

Over the eastern edge

And back to Brooklyn

No more than a bed

To call my own

The only options are rent

No hopes to own

So our time here is quick

Subtle and sweet

Seeing some familiar

Faces out on the street

The people still hustle

Just as I remember

Checking in 2 months past

September

The city sways easy in Autumn leaves

Until it will soon be our time to leave

Non Brokered Life Decisions

Non brokered life decisions

Going broke

With entitlements given

We hope upon life grandeur

The vestments of blessings

Hopefully lay ahead

Life uncertain

Is better than certain

Mentally dead

Uneasy Life Matters

A mind scattered

Pulled apart and tattered

Will make not one noise when shattered

Yet others will wonder and chatter

With him there is something wrong

Something must be the matter

But no words will be used to flatter

My uneasy life matters