#399. east river esplanade

October 3, 2010

certain
of now and then
with out knowing the point
spread out over all the time it takes
to walk a girl from pier seventeen to battery park
and ride home with the daily catch
on the path to awareness
that everything
passes

#377. no place like it (ldw4

September 6, 2010

the crowds
and kids are gone home
the rivers run singing quietly
the city’s spirits rattle
echo down worn hot
cobblestone mazes
and cool rooms
call me to my
sweet bed
and you

#376. oscawanna (ldw3

September 5, 2010

hazy on
the hudson
where its a river
clearly the lake nearby
and the leaves on the water
floating knowledge of the future
in the beauty of decay
and the delicate pleasure in time

#375. max and yetta (ldw2

September 4, 2010

lower east side
hard buzz
labored middle
knowing everyone
is here with me frantic piece
work peace the best that can be done?

i can smell the burning clothes
still i share the sorrows

#302. south street walk

June 23, 2010

summer leaves
crisping not
wilting
subway
air dense
as a rye bread
baking on lower
east side
stairs
lifting
up and out
bodies disperse
finding spaces
to catch
delight
zephyr
fragrant
dream floats
across the starry
river where brooklyn
she smiles
dances
cooling us
walkers at night

summer calm
breathe the night
ship horn’s low voice
under brooklyn bridge
with the storm charged
to thunder and all of us on
shore ready to make love or
yell or smoke or dance all night
to rythms never the same away
from the east river

even the ghosts
above the cafe haunt
us to the low pungent beat
with lavender fumes and gouges
in the bar from the working girls and fishhooks

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

#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.

#29. More Ghosts of New York

September 25, 2009

The first ones
Jostling in the pushcart streets
For their american unborns.
Measuring the nations
Patterning their dresses.
Remembering the pale
Their own ghosts
Walking hundreds of miles
To get home from war.
To make their children in peace
A moment before the creation of more ghosts.

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