outside

outside your window
no talk or nothin’
doing

vital

Oh, I just take as much as you can throw
And then throw it all away
Oh, I throw it all away
Like throwing faces at the sky like
Throwing arms ’round
Yesterday

units of time & distance

One of my oldest friends became a New Yorker some years ago.

Retracing the small-town streets of our common histories on a warm night, he observed that seasoned urbanites, when presented with blank sidewalk, cannot help but walk—and if this means moving in the direction of no particular destination, learned nature will preside—as if the zen of no-particular-destination alone could fail to suffice.

This seemed natural, and so we walked. We talked until we ran out of long, small-towne blocks. Then we retraced our steps, pushing the boundaries of the other direction, talking into the wee hours.

Seasoned urbanites cannot help but walk.

Now I do not think this is so.

It’s true that metered city geography tells time. It tells textured, experiential time. (Or perhaps experience tells time.)

I’ll feel like myself again; just give me a block.

The drive from my place to Anaka’s old neighborhood takes one cigarette.

The T ride to Park Street is 10 engrossing pages.

Stand-still city geography imprints and raises experience, firmly fixed in time. Many of my experiences are those of anotherness. Some are, fondly, just mine.

There’s still smoke and lights in February.

The street did look different when I returned.

I am glad you kissed me for too long by that door.

Dancing days are here again.

Why is a flower lovelier when it hasn’t been planted?

Falafel mystery, solved with zen.

There a few things more lovely than a hand-holding couple conversing slowly home in spite of the rain.

I stand still, for the apprehension.

oh nothing

“Pooh!” whispered Piglet.

“Yes, Piglet?” said Pooh.

“Oh, nothing,” said Piglet. “I was just making sure of you.”

afterglow

i’ve only ever left
one man complete

that age-old question

can one waking, dream
smoke out and burst
money as leaves
rubbing words together?

priorities

I’d sooner rearrange my life–
than my apartment.

flow

besides
how lucky we are
to live by the water

sweet mirage

you have an aftertaste
up on the avenue
latent but sound as night is sound
is your untold momentum or
is my attending that which reifies
street players and egyptian dancers
beside mystical barflies
to witness the collision
of these our certain
ordinary forces

you have an avenue somewhere
you oftentimes forget
you are ridiculous here in the commonplace
through trees i taste you with the sky
i wonder
and what attraction do those
other bodies now retain
when you fling gravity or flushed aquamarine
not to mention recognition
with glances only just askew
from canopy dark lashes i covet
in lieu of sunbeams

you propel me
three funny blocks
i’m home

backbeat

everyday
for as long as i can remember
you sing me
better than i know myself
and when you don’t
i will still hear you
far-off and
behind