Donuts

There is a place on Manhattan Ave.

Down on the street

With a view

A little spot called Peter Pan

My morning donut man

Light but filling

Soft but full

Smell of fresh dough walking in

Warming from the thin winter air

Grab a couple of loose Washingtons

Fumbling some change

The pale white aprons fill the counter

They exchange money for food

As I grasp this first-morning donut

I embrace its warmth and familiarity

My teeth rupture the delicate sugar coating

Unleashing the yeast flavor in subtle fashion

In this moment I am home

Wherever that takes me

The sugar hangs on my chin

As I walk back out through the crowded doorway

I am on my way

Back to Brooklyn

Back to life

Breathe it all in

Take one last bite

 

 

 

 

 

The Greatest Descent

What is safety

Pushed away unsafely

City streets stirred up and shady

It seems a story slams the headlines

Daily

The feeling is uneasy

Slightly crazy

How is it that civilization

Can never be quite content

Individuals looking for a reason

For the greatest descent

Wake up on Monday morning

The headlines read

3 men attacked with guns

On the streets

New York City

In the highest of high rises

No reason to sympathize

For one foolish man

Can bring down the hearts of 3

Right on the streets of the city

Disputes, commutes, early mornings

No sudden warning

My wife and I were only 4 miles away

Uneasy it seems these days

Life can be short of pretty

On tough days in New York City

I’d Rather be Lying 

I’d rather be lying than say it

The city can frustrate 

Illustrate the non city perks

In Manhattan on a hot summer spurt

Oak tables decorated elaborately

Tightly held collars creased with summer heat

In the subways 

Not a getaway as much as an oven

Leaves my mind wandering

Of the lakes outside the Midwest

Only too relinquish my summer request

For now I tango with 90 in New York City

Trying to keep cool in the shade

Of 180 10th street

Stay inside to supercedes the heat

There are times I would rather be 

On the lakes of the great state

Than on the city streets

The Streets of Pollution

When the shift comes

When the good has come undone

Rung out of the feelings

Absurd little dealings

Of high dollar agreements

Gentrification and public ceilings

I have become the problem

No longer a solution

Another chimney

On the streets of pollution

My feelings have crackled

Dried up like timber

Burst into flames

Under the opposite

Season to winter

My hopes wither

From giant logs on a river

To little more than a small sliver

The exchanges of gold and silver

Have yielded a new type sinner

With higher debts

And higher fevers

To push up rents

And out the believers

So now maybe I am the problem

I am not quite sure how it shifted

From pushing keys

In the seat I am sitting

Now to the lords of rent

Coming down hard

In a city unfit for a family and yard

So I will move on

To new opportunities and games

For somewhere else I may be the solution

To help clean up

The new streets of pollution

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

Hails the Sun

The skyline hails the sun
In a stretch upwards
Calling the blue from the moon
Orange flecks gold over the estuary arm
Setting for the even
The empire reaches high and mighty
As the east river ferry barrels through
The wind stricken water
The brooklyn bridge reaches Manhattan
Strong and grounded
As planes launch from the ground
One world trade as new as a baby in the sky
Brooklyn in the back
Heralding the spring night
The rocks
Tucked with miss on the Brooklyn beach
On a Friday night
In New York City

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