#550. sticky storm

October 30, 2012

sandy tossd the streets and canyons today
we walked and tar-smelled the life and that still gate
that yawns when the surge drives the early morning rain wind dark

with fragile stone
people are hurrying
scurrying raindrops home
but i am on a walk to walk over
the brooklyn bridge to smell the sea
and hear poetry and to sing with the poets
all the ayes all the masts intertwined with cables
steel gray sky breathing with us as we amble and stride
strive to hear the music the words the horn of the ferries bright
beyond the underneath the promenade still stands fast greenheart
of the fragile forest

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on

going

over the river

i become

the forest

over the river

i become

and go

on

eyes still wide
someone will remember us you say
under the paint
I say someone will in another time
entrain us
remember us even in another i say
exploding myth
you say another time

I would not think to touch the sky with two arms

my home is revolution
someone will remember us you say
in the canyons
I say someone will in another time
of wicked problems
remember us even in another i say
exploding revolution
you say another time

may day
super moon rising
nypd contract is now up
one econo dip from #occupy
“which side are you on boys, which side are you on?”

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#538. shooter

April 29, 2012

alive your pain pried me
open with a dull curving blade
alive in the middle of the muscle world
plump meat oyster me in crisp sea salt chill
pearl liquor decorated moss green weed rough black
gritty shell back tidal scent popped the hinge and slurped
with lemon and sriracha sauce as red as any of your dreams

#535. walking is

March 27, 2012

concretally clopping poetess overtaking 
my aged steps in the glinty glinty sunlighty and the roar 
rah roar of hudson estuary revolution up
stream tasting the choco chocolahtidah hot sipping hot 
steaming whistle whistle whistle through my 
nose hairs occupy my consciously unsubconciously new york

#529. walk before bed

January 20, 2012

off season
the river and the moon
paint me in night in chill wind chime
out on the pier thrusts my walking mind
upon the harbor one ghost sail raised for home
the planks the pilings the broken tangled gear weathered 
seen off through gathering fog by myself and the golden hound

#526. transit

January 6, 2012

the wind turns the river dark
holding hands on the graceful bridge
stone you fly and bring our shores together
vigilant brooklyn heights manhattan shines beside thee

you and i ride
hold our bags
watching
a pearl
rolling
around on
the winter
subway floor

#519. thanks mom

December 29, 2011

feeling time
the river branches around 
all the ghosts becoming more and more
frequent riding the current down to the sea

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