Tuesday, July 19, 2016

July Poem

I cannot get over
what I cannot get done.
All the little leaves
make a big pile
on the tiny curbs
of 10th Avenue.
Even the squirrels
have a certain sass.
"Don't give me none
of your your sass,"
I say to no one but you.
Still, the sun creeps over
the radiant High Line.
My sweat tastes
like a sports drink
on my forearm. I know
a thing or two about
things like drawing lines,
not even sort of, but
like 100% Sol Lewitt.
In the quiet
of an afternoon
in July in New York City
I think I see everyone
enjoying the fairly
pleasant weather
while war rages on
nearly everywhere.
Catch your breath.

Thursday, July 14, 2016


This swirl has sidewalks,
flattened gum, and stink puddles.
I'll be back when the crowd
makes a slow machine hum
to the tune of spastic insults
and dumpy trains.
Clears throat, sees light
come shining, does a jig,
and rolls away.
I don't have time
to pass the time.
Here, have some
chunks of it, glittering
and unstoppable, the momentum
gathering like a yellow sports car
that costs more than I'll make
in a decade of retail work.
Up I go into oblivion.

Saturday, July 09, 2016

James Baldwin

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

River Wizard

Monday, June 20, 2016

Ruby Bear

Time Traveler

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Breather 1 & 2

Wednesday, June 15, 2016