The Port Authority

The bus is a rough way to travel–rough on the tires, rough on the mind. It’s rough on the tired mind. This port has full authority over the hard reality of every departure–every flight–the transient lines, the commutation, the brutal architecture. I am still enamored with any film from the 70s starring Steve McQueen. I’m still amazed by the vintage struggle of every beating wing in the Port Authority.

Still New Jersey

Another New Jersey night raid
Through the hills of melancholy malls
Outside the realm of American norms
Home to the still dreaming tribes

In a concrete dowry
Her gift is bestowed
Upon the Prince of travel
Still the mystery begs to unravel

Where is your great continental heart?
That once pumped with Springsteen blood
Now a stent is laid that I may pass
Once again trudging through your mass

New Jersey

New Jersey, where have you been all my life?
I’m sorry I have only used you.
For passing through you.
For this I am truly remorseful.

Your beauty and marvel are beyond my comprehension.
I’ve not been worthy of your true Constitutional companionship.

I kneel in awe and pray you bestow.
Your blessings upon me once again.
As I once again pass through on my dull and mortal crusade.
Blind still to your majestic envelopment.