If You Let the World

If you let the world

Serve you bad coffee

It most certainly will

Some may blast this as

Pretentious

But be cautious

As my case I present

I walked slowly

Rolling into the cafe

Dim lit on my way

Through Illinois and Iowa

I could just tell from the sight of her

It was not going to be easy

Uneasy was the feeling

Her stare into mine

But I had to wonder

Is it worth my time

To ask for something

Other than a glass of turpentine

I realized this rush was no longer

About coffee or personality

I was unsure if I was afraid

If I should abate my post

Where were these feelings

Overwhelming me

Like the holy ghost

She could tell I was uneasy

Pushed hard for me to move on

In a quick minute my mind had reacted

I was going to let her

Her

Win

I was not going to step out of line

I would rather walk away disgruntled

Than to let her get her energy infused to mine

As I walked away and the next customer approached

After I was dismally reproached

In such light and airy way she won her way

Exacting my energy from my eyes I would say

I opened the door for my fail grandeur

She managed her own will on mine

I was let down

But I soon learned in the quickness of time

It is with certainty

That I can speak certainly

If I do not speak certainly

Than uncertainty will belittle my will

This will leave my ego and soul ill filled

So when the world attempts to push you down

From a simple coffee – blurred old brown

Don’t let the light be pushed away

Sometimes the light is needed

Confidence displayed

The world will accept you

And not push you back

Instead of slowly whimpering

“I’ll just drink my coffee black”

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 Commodity of Space

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

Finitely Undivine

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

Creaking of Dawn

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

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

Awaiting the Snow

Mine for the taking

Undertaking

Sincerity or faking

I withstand the scene

Seen on every TV

Commercial or contact layer

Layered with talk

Talking heads

As I wonder my own destiny

I neither own nor know

What lies beneath, below

I watch more heads talk

And await another round of snow

Morning Exercise

The purpose behind

The green outside

In a winter morning

Simple prose upon warming

Keep inspiration flowing

The more you make

It’s yields keep growing

So at 9:20 AM

Hoping for a new set

Of inspiration

Looking for new adventures of writing

Looking low

Hoping the ideas are not hiding

I let my fingers and mind go

And this is what it has to behold

Relative Hesitation

The slightest hesitation

Bound up in eternal

Procrastination

One moment later

Can be a true difference maker

When realizing what will be my mark

Leftover when I am through

Will I have waited

For some long awaited hopes

Or woken at dawn

To climb the morning ropes

Destiny has to relation

For those caught up

In hesitation