Moon Tells All

In tune with the weight of the moon
Even in the morning there is light
A way to pass into the realm of waves
If I stare hard into the twisted shapes
Sense can be made of a day
Sense can be derived from a universe of misalignment
Turn the malformed mass on its side
A new birth awaits every solitary station
Look into the eyes of a statue
A soul is frozen in every stone
Look deep into the eye of dear moon
She is telling us we’re not quite alone
She is telling us there is solace in cyclical motion
Telling us the story of all incantations
That the bright shines behind our eyes

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.