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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

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

Diamond

My illusion is grand today.
It presents a new quotient of thrills.
An infinite amount of space to fill.
Another chance to find the way.

Buildings sky and people’s faces.
Some things of beauty I must turn away.
Artificial simulations provide no grace.
The magic floats rose upon the grey.

Armed with cannons of illusory invention
I aim trajectory to further bounds.
This grand facade of surface tension.
Is coming down.

A neutron bomb of beauty comes.
To vaporize the pomp and fluff
Leave behind only the true one.
My diamond in the rough.

I do a lot of scraping on the carbon hardened surface.
This imaginary protocol of modern life.
Just below the impenetrable crust lies the interminable purpose.
Deep deep dreams, dolphins at the bottom of the ocean, my wife.

I See the Storms

I saw a tiny tornado
On the street
Just at my feet
A hundred thousand people
Who would be witnesses
Saw nothing

Life rarely happens below knee level
In the New York City horizon
Too many synapses shouting
Too many body parts
Anxious and lustful forensics

Be it granted, a micro twister may not
To others be the experience of glory
That it is to me
It raises many questions
It invokes the entire universe into a day
That otherwise has much to bear

I almost didn’t notice too
The girl weeping right in front of me
Another silent tsunami
Lost to eyes on the open sea

Shine and Hide

There will be days
When the muses sleep late
I don’t even believe
These mythical beings be

There is a flood
A rush of blood
A cosmic alignment
The assignment suddenly becomes clear.

Who am I to suppose
That these beings come specifically to me
That they only live under my tree
Bearing fruit for these hands to harvest

The stream is infinitely wide
With access on both sides
We all swim, drink and lie
We all shine as we all hide.