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The commute
She is slate, grey graffiti’d metal, shuttered storefront. She is brick, mortar, vinyl, lit windows, neon. She is Hispanic, Hasidic, West African, White: bearing children, big chested, tiny- tight packaged jeaned things. She is strut, out and up, left- right, the rise and fall. Large thighed, skinny legged. Each stoplight, street corner, ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
There are dark circles under my eyes, there are restless nights, there is sadness and despair. I expect to look in the mirror and see gray hair, an old man, a specter, but I do not. I simply see me and I'm all the worse for it. My eyes have come to glaze when I shave, I walk the kitchen as I brush my teeth, I brush my hair with my hands in a ( Read more... ) -
experiment in translation
listen, it's confusion in violins. it's trepidation in the space between stretched fingers- long, like limbs of their own- tapping, committing keys to notes. Piano keys resist, like a note of friction itself until you pass a point where the hammer gains momentum and knocks against its string, its noted partner for life. Here, the agony of ( Read more... ) -
dreamt self destruction
She oozed closer. She was butter melting. She was cheese bubbling. She was bread browned by grill glowed by flame and her soft tortilla shell was tearing at the edges. She was ripping at the seams and pouring out in great gasps of yellow semi-solid dairy. We tried like little dutch boys to keep her together to no avail. She was flapping her ( Read more... ) -
east river rambling
.
From the J-eMZee
to Brooklyn
I watched the bright-white
tip-top of the empire state
play peek-a-boo
through its busy city sky scape
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The audacity: or, the other city
Tell me, in this war we're waging, the dialog that would ensue if somebody decided the best way to end what they see as a horrible "insurgency" into their country, wrecking their way of life, was to fly a plane over new york and let loose another atomic bomb on those who brought it, smiling, into the world in the first place ( Read more... ) -
"I'm damaged bad at best"
I learned once, as a child, that on liquor billboards they had a glass filled with ice that had subliminal frosting that spelt S-E-X from top cube to bottom. People were shocked, parents held open palms to the sides of faces as they shook their heads to the tune of what's wrong with the world. Childless neighbors ran concerned hands roughing the ( Read more... ) -
fuck it all
Sex like poetry
Off kiltered meter
Rambling -
the first paragraph of a chapter I'm working on...
We lay in bed like branches waiting for the wind to blow and brush us up against ( Read more... ) -
writing gone wrong
If I'd'a'been a mosquito ( Read more... )