Drink plenty of water while you weep, to replenish the body's supply cc: CC '22
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When I went away overnight, my mom would advise to take along an extra pair of underwear, in the event of either good or bad luck cc: CC '22
I do so loathe the green-pea foam that rises when you boil 'em, I spoon it out, the emerald scum, to clear the way for dumplin' If by luck you have a ham hock, throw it in the pot, the flavor will entice you, you'll like it... a lot The next day when you reheat, do so low and slow, stir gently, stir often, upon fresh crusty bread spread butter, to soften It's OK to slurp if it's hot, especially if you're alone, be careful not to choke inhaling the pork bone Then clear your spot and wash your plate, rinse your spoon, sponge down the range, it's not too late, nor too soon to make a change to affect a life, namely Yours, get out from indoors, from under no more blankets overhead, rear up to hear the thunder no more soupy fog, no more bump on a log, no more kissable frog, no more gears, you cog Hey - are your ears clogged? A table for two would do just fine, double up on the peas Please! How time will slow, you will see small bubbly gather 'round the rim, that's when you stir once, cover then simmer for a lifetime, real low may Your foams rise and always be skimmed cc: CC '22
I gladly volunteer to be the target for the next meteorite, to save us all from extinction, I promise my dust will not hover long, no nuclear winter, or exacerbation of the greenhouse effect; if it's a small piece of space debris let it rip through me, leave a celestial hole in my body, like Bugs Bunny runs though a wall to imprint a perfect silhouette, a larger meteor proper, an interplanetary rock would simply flatten me, perhaps I'd become a black hole, so dense that you'd be drawn to my event horizon, do gladly drop in, I could put up coffee, order some danish, bagels, and a very large one, the size of a minor planet, an asteroid, would create a crater about me, a place to visit in years to come, bring the family, watch the geysers spout If I had a team, I would take one for it, but I don't so I do this quite selfishly, merely to have been * *Ibid, Chagall, Carlos, One Life, Book LXV, Chapter V (the final footnote) cc: CC '22
I prep produce, vegetables and fruit, for salads and soup, atop old newsprint The NY Times, the Daily News, rarely The Wall Street Journal, and maybe the Post, from any city I marvel at the events I've missed while shucking and peeling Oh my God, Desmond Tutu died the day after Christmas '21, there among shredded carrot it says he said if you want Peace, don't talk to your friends, instead talk to your enemies In January, foreign Chinese investors had reason to be on edge, something-something else I can't read for the smearing of eggplant slime upon the ink And people dead in airplanes, and poor folks swindled, a shooting here, a mugging there, prices up, money down Every page, every year, every onion peel, orange rind, and apple seed, everyday cc: CC '22
Don't ever stop her from stomping in rain puddles again cc: CC '22
Breathe origami songbird conceives lilts unsung life folds outside-in cc: CC 2022
The rain once released earth's aroma to remind us, the sugary past rises early gray no morning left to speak of this midday, no laughter at sunset, without gold gloam at first sight of the moon, missed love in the wee hours where tears were wept when fasts are broken absent the heart at sunrise, a new day's life old friend, I will see us the next time around cc: CC 2022
there must be a ceiling broke-through
an atrium somewhere
or I will be trapped
contained
never to fly away
they will capture me no matter how rapid
my wings in ascent
I travel floor to floor
a frantic search for egress
to the underside of the roof
no farther
they rise in chase so I descend
once past them
they reverse
so I rise again
on and on
I spy a small tear in the fabric,
in a corner up and away where I bob to rest
in a panic, I deflate, collapse
press through
I am atop a tall building
in the gold twilight
the world stretches far beyond below
gargoyles, fascia, domes and cupolas
too distant, too many to discern any detail
it is after sunset
without a sense of morning
to fly this course is not the same, but not unlike
that to which I've grown accustomed
one strong downward flap at a time
I cannot, shall never return to the world inside
for the tear has been mended
I am uncertain if buoyance works here
don't fail me
I dip one wing to test the updraft
lean into the invisible
like prayer
I slip off the edge
behind closed eyes, I know
I am alight
aloft
I pick up speed
incredible velocity
I will
myself to crash
to no avail
it is out
of my hands
to those gathered on the roofs below, I am a rapid float
a figment
an irritant to the world-bound
with new confidence I bank
steeply
atop the hot wind
I shout to the searchers from the inside out now, to look up
they see me
I point
Heaven!
tucked tightly, wings pinned, I commence my take-off
like a fool gone wild I ride the envelope's curl
upward against immense gravity
to where there is no air, no light
onward to the pulsar's hum, ejecting spent stages
I soar
I vibrate and rattle, my needles all in the red
gears grind, metal teeth gnash
the beat-beat-beat of bleeding ear drums, tom-toms
the sound of planets birthed, of dying stars gone supernova
the roar of the wrath of the Almighty
a crescendo of harmony, a superchord
dissonance unlike anything I'd ever presumed godly
nothing is quiet, all of creation in a single sound
then suddenly, nothing but quiet, palpable calm
radiant beams of diffracted light, prisms halo
the myopic blur of the eternal afloat on the placenta of orbit
this is not an exit
this is the path
to re-entry
below me, the earth sleeps
dark and beautiful
awash in its indigo
together with the blue pearl
atop
the black
under the splay of Her jeweled hand
She points me at the wares
cc: CC 2022
I use the word alight a lot
for I often discuss birds and souls in flight
who seek rest upon branches and stars
And twilight too
is more than mere sound
with its unvoiced tease
at the beginning
at the end
unbreathed tongue stopped
air pressure
too many times
does birthed crop up
no one really sires ideas
or a new me
with the frequency that I imply
and reams of dreams
a shortcut for setting
context for symbols
cleverly
awakened by cymbals
from the room below
a drumroll, good speakers
sounds like vinyl pushing air
a zoot sizzles on a zildjian
a zephyr in the treetops,
how I love a good canopy
a hazy cool gone wild
in the midst of the pink, in the mist on the brink
I ideate to while away the time
while sexy somnambulists samba
sweaty in summer
I write little (nothing?)
about afternoons, interims, go-betweens
or what the germans call something-something-blick
the blur that's there but not seen
when you move your eyes from right
to left rapidly
to leave suddenly is a theme of mine
whether by death, or train, or a slip in the night
usually twilight, never mid-day
to help spawn a new you
love lost then found! then lost again
twice alit
I overuse heaven and frenzy
rarely mention hell except on earth
for a short while I SO LOVED
oxygenate and its various noun and verb forms
even in haiku
(...a kid'll eat ivy too, wouldn't you?)
and photons, and light, and sentience, and all things eternal,
goddesses more often than gods, one God, non-dual, trinities,
Evans' trios and Miles's quintets
peace and hope and love and Gaia
but always somewhere lurked a kiss
a soft and quiet run of a finger
a long stretch of skin
a shudder, a tickle
the lost picture of the only thing lost,
a haunting interval
perhaps an interim at last
a hint at what takes place
beyond the ellipsis
cc: CC 2022
Alphabet City 