Tag Archives: Facebook

Thin Nights

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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

Sentimental Tease

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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

Anomoly of Jackhammers

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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

The Commodity of Space

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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

Creaking of Dawn

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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

The Orange Sky of Brooklyn

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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

Unconscious Desiring; An Ode

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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

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“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

Manhattan Avenue

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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

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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