blue gray
sycamore bell st.
annabella brooklyn
broadway is broken
dreamt of devastation
left to wander, wonder.
both at the same time
whispering out the window,
i wish i had an arrow
give me an arrow,
give me an arrow shot,
a straight line to you.
you might
ask me
how are you today?
i would say,
look around!
i’m quiet gray
with bricks
that are red
and slow.
desperate.
stacked
and
stacked
and
stacked
and
for what?
after another long love making session that made her late for work again, she suggested they work on the art of the quickie. he was skeptical. she said, “i like everything the way it is but we can’t be in bed for two hours every time, i’m gonna lose my job!” he laughed a little and said, “you don’t like your job.” “that’s not the point!” she was getting a little wound up and he calmed her down by agreeing to give it a shot. a few mornings later, he asked her, “would you prefer a pre or post breakfast quickie?” “pre!” she said with a smile. “okay, pre it is.” he said as he pulled at her pajama pants. ten minutes later they were lying there totally out of breath, smiling up at the ceiling. she looked over to him and said, “see, that was great, right?” he smiled and said, “yeah, and easy too, watch out, i might get used to it.” “you’d better not get used to it!” she said as she smacked his bare chest. she was pleased with herself and how well her suggestion had worked out. “see, we made love and i am going to make it to work on time.” she hopped out of bed and started getting ready for work. he laid in bed and watched her dress. “let me play you this song before i go.” she put on some music and they started talking. when her song finished, he said, “let me play you one.” he got out of bed and walked over to the computer. she got up so he could sit in the desk chair and as soon as he was sitting, she hopped into his lap. they traded songs and they talked about everything they could think of. suddenly she yells, “shit, shit, shit, i’m late! i’m late again!” “baby, maybe you should quit.” he said. “maybe i should quit you!” she said head wagging with a grin. “you couldn’t, you tried, remember?” she looked at him sideways and said, “anyway, i have something to tell you before i go.” then she smiled, pulled his face in close to hers and whispered in his ear. “make love to me.”
i woke up from a dream at six am. i was on a farewell tour, seeing all the people i wanted to see before i was to die. we all ended up at a diner eating breakfast and talking over coffee. death came in and had a seat. after a few hours it was time to go. i stood up when death did, like a true gentleman and said, “after you.” death smiled and said, “i have not come for you, only your heart.”
the morning after the morning after a long night of whiskey is always a beautiful thing. just to wake up feeling normal. good to see you monday.
I like it
there
floating.
here
no one
comprehends
the electric lines
shooting
between
us.
shit man, sometimes you don’t stand a chance against all this real life. working all day, trying to get something good down on paper at night. it comes slow, but it comes. another town full of gangsters, shiny wheels and hard looks, tattoos and gold pieces against the red bricks of new revolution. there’s blood in the river. there’s blood. i don’t contribute to the blood, not anymore. i sit. i read. i write. i like a beer now and then. i like taking pictures. walking under the sun as the sirens blare past, blurry police cruisers on their way to the blood and me, i’m just walking home, done with all this real life for the day.
long night, the dark. i sit in the dark writing this. a song of me. no music or melody. no beat. some rhythm. the keys sound nice. my long fingers beating them down. i shouldnt beat them, but i do. here in the dark, this long night, writing a song to the sounds of an intersection and from the center of that intersection, one can go absolutely nowhere in four different directions. honk at the universe, stick out a thumb, nowhere or bust, that’s the sign right there. nowhere or bust. some nice gentleman will probably pull over, roll down the passenger window and dumbly shout, “hey buddy, i’m going nowhere, want to tag along?” people are always more than willing to take you with them. long night, the dark. i sit in the dark realizing i don’t have a musical bone in my body so this is no song, just some words and some imagination. i see an orchestra of red yellow and green. an orchestra of old beaters and dump trucks. bass. i miss the subway snares. the strings. women are always violins. space. space. black hole thoughts. it takes a worried man to write a worried song, i maybe worried now, but i won’t be worried long.
a long day. twelve hours of work in the trenches and i am fucking filthy, but it’s a good filth and it’s the kind of filth that washes off. some people are just filthy and they can’t do a thing about it. anyway, i have the whole starry night in my sights and twenty bucks burning a hole in my blue jeans. i’m thinking that maybe that twenty won’t carry me too far, but if i skip dinner and give that twenty to jack daniels, i bet i’ll be feeling damn good by the time the bars fill up. then maybe if i run into a good hearted bartender or make nice with some girls i can stretch that twenty into a sure shot saturday night. i don’t know, but i am going to give it the old one two try. wish me luck.
a night of incredible dreams. woke up to a bright white world of ice and snow. the sound of traffic. the smell of bacon. you were sitting on my old oak chair, nude with a cup of coffee, a blonde wig covering your thick black hair looking like you were expecting someone to sketch you. then i woke up again.
above the escalator
the ceiling tiles
were all black.
i was still thinking
about heart & luck
and how those two
rarely come together
like they should.
