#197. Angels

March 10, 2010

The angel world
angel street
Babylon arises
in might
every working day
at night
the angel girls
with angel heat
suffer joy
in mad heaven carnivals.
O New Rome girls!

The clouds above New York City
are blooming
like crowds in the late afternoon.

moving straight into the past
pushing through the allen street ghosts
each street tossing my collective
dna consciousness
delancey
grand
canal
reverbrate
with the ship’s horns
and bells off the east river
pushcarts rattle around my bus
mournful yiddish cries
with old women in kerchiefs
about ice
and vegetables and shmuel
is in trouble at home again
and the smell of veal parm from the west and the chinese ducks hanging
irish brogues
rogues and cops eyeing
each other across the asphalt field
that sumbitch has good ale
and its down to sloppy louies for the fish fried or broiled
beat beards too with indecipherable
visions also mumbling into their papers
the atomic bomb blows time
returns forward
and so does my mind

#157. Between

January 29, 2010

between
the grey rivers
alive with ghosts
the fishing boats
have pulled away
from the port
the market the battery
long ago gone
with the kids
on the concrete beaches
of the island
to grow up and live
to thrive and die and haunt us
between the grey rivers
that lead to the sea
that liberated our spirits
when they were our ancestors

#152. tom’s market

January 24, 2010

infinite poem express
tom’s market
dense as a ryebread spring
in the Endless lower east side
below delancey
ghost pushcarts
alter cockers
chinese slippers
families
roar of the f train
below the grates.

#150. Hey Adam (winter

January 22, 2010

Hey Adam (winter

in all the shadowy absences
of a barren season shine highlights.
things shared remain more than memory.
inspiration does not allow sorrow
to remain
nor does spring allow winter.

#147. Bad Reading

January 19, 2010

A popular favorite
Walt.
The door frame
of your house
is cool relief
from dry pastoral prose-poems.

in the soft
cold evening of ghostly
new york
all the citizens and characters
bump and tumble
into each other
down subways and out
store doors
feeling their
joyous anxious way
they slip into the holy
anonymity of treasures
and pain that they find at home
or on the streets.
in the morning the ghosts are gone again.

#116. Out Cold

December 19, 2009

Out cold
over the east river
the snow blows
and the ghosts
flow in and out
of the arches
of the brooklyn bridge
small biting flakes
bedeviling
the only living
soul walking
the span.

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