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  • Islands in the Street

  • 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.