May 2012

Cyclist Hit By Car

I see the cyclist propelled through the Summer air.
His Brooklyn frame lands with a fleshy thud.
He slowly arises with a passive aggressive smirk.
The perpetrator checks the state of his van first.

Socrates Versus Muse

The muse are often a flighty band. Some days they flitter about in far away neighborhoods. Others they will hover in silent stares, casting shadows on my tombstone, withholding all information, letting one think. The inflicted occupation of thinking has caused many a malfeasance. In this neighborhood it spells death. The friction of the feet must generate enough heat to keep the children from freezing. The reflex must be honed as the switchblade sidearm is, ready to strike with fists of hardened bone. To stop and figure is a gesture to the predators of submission. A confident tone and sharp intuition goes a long way here. We are the warriors of understanding, letting the information wash over when it rains, following the patterns that it paints for our sake. And when the sun shines in its unsettling silence, we wait.

Peel steel

Kingston brick yard

From a series of photos shot at the Kingston brick yard and Tilcon concrete facility—private industrial wasteland

Hide and teal

From a series of photos shot at the Kingston brick yard and Tilcon concrete facility, pre-Bob Dylan concert and fancy food festival

Interstellar Saviors

In the middle of the morning
At the start of a day
I saw the beaming lights of distant
Loving people finding long waves
From celebrated corners of the fairest stellar side
They came to give us pleasant dreams
Came to help us find
In those beams of blistered vision
Pulling up to heaven
There was no resistance from the lambs
Floating into mother ship’s wombs
Landing in new feet again
This is the future we had dreamt
A utopia of science and emotion
The religion of standing still
And the blasphemy of angry will
Sent this vessel first to extinguish
Now to experience a wandering flight
Into what was once considered night
Now it’s seen as it unfolds
To be a long story not yet told
Our insignificant stance in the infinite dance
Of matter and importance none
The energetic transfer all to one
In magnetics we find solitude
Or disperse into a wash of atomic color
I await this coming wave
An invasion of the norm
The mighty ships of pirates
Arrive to free the earthly slaves.

Steel for brick

Kingston brick yard

From a series of photos shot at the Kingston brick yard and Tilcon concrete facility, pre-development

No title

From a series of photos shot at the Kingston brick yard and Tilcon concrete facility, pre-state park

Black Godess

Coffee makes me love
Even before I stir
My heart is open to the world
I take the medicine for being
By the mouth without seeing
The true glory of the day
It always comes true
With the mouth watering ensues
The brilliant awakening of cells
The super heightened manic bend

I give myself to you black goddess
My occupation depends on your benevolence
Your encouragement is sweet
It glides and softens too
I find my way through
An otherwise foggy day
Far from the San Francisco Bay
Where I first saw your face
You were everywhere in my way
Helping me to stay awake
Through the trying days of twenty-three

Now we’re an undefeatable team
Sometimes in true true black
Accompanied by a snack
Or augmented by sugar and cream

Giving Ghosts Gifts

I smell fresh roses on the subway
Are my ghosts here too?
Can they visit inhospitable places?
Pass through me drawing out memory

It’s always unexpected when it happens
An overwhelming sense of calm
More than déjà vu or melancholy
It’s the wave of true sensation

It passes so brusquely
As if only to taunt my motion
Leaving only memory, a pale emotion
Compared to time and space travel

Thank you for the flowers
On this grey Spring day
Even if their presence quiets
A disillusioned way.

How can a mortal give gifts to a ghost
Passing things across the ether
We can only accept
Until the great gap is bridged.