#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

#522. mid midnight

January 1, 2012

what is new
and what is old
in the eternal pause
of this daily rice and salt
happy some year this year

#457. no more rice or salt

January 29, 2011

once you go you’re gone
down the ghost subway 
no more rice or salt
to feel or make

old dreams young
and young dreams old
the sea returns me
and by the sea i escape

the compass
in my bakers hand
encircles my flying mind
crowns and directs me found

#364. evening stroll

August 24, 2010

walking with you
cool august evening
brooklyn bridge view
your hand in mine sings

the lights of the heights
across the east river
as sharp as salt air
makes me tear up

#297. sailor

June 18, 2010

sailor
casting off
nimble in the rain
the casual confidence
she projects through her
well mastered rope handling
is calling me back to the grey sea
back to myself back to the deep dark
home

look
between the cobblestones
into the ancient earth
of the seaport

find there
the ghosts of new york

hear
water through the broken ships
anchoring the rotting piers
peck slip and coientes

find there
the bones of new york

smell
drifting airs sweet sour
salt spicy bitter
conjuring the past today

find there
the breath of new york

feel
destruction rumbling construction
devolving evolving mains tunnels
hovels towers bridges

find there
the blood of new york

taste
the masses strangers known
intimately in the shared glimpse
of the Endless across the tracks

find there
the dreams of new york

look
between the cobblestones
into the ancient earth
of the seaport

find there
the ghosts of new york

hear
water through the broken ships
anchoring the rotting piers
peck slip and coientes

find there
the bones of new york

taste
drifting icy airs sweet
sour salt spicy bitter
conjuring the past today

find there
the breath of new york

i went down to the water today, again.
the east river at high tide then to
the hudson estuary with all the wind
and the birds flying and screaming
felt the mud at the bottom of the harbor exposed
and cold stinking of life and our culture
being cleansed impure until we kill ourselves off.

i trust the sea to do what is needful
for the air to transmit all the information
that the trees need to create
that the earth needs to return us to the fire.

i will go down to the water tomorrow, again.

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