Safely Home

That night was filled with

standers-by, thus

A surge in city cars. Even then

I walked, well, tread, from those certain

City blocks.

I walked, well, tread, to my group

Of city blocks, despite the many

City cars,

Not to clear my head but mind.

And always am wont to notice

The change

-of- view:

The change of blocks with streets

To those with cobble stone.

The segue of scenes-

Of buildings glass and upward built,

to brownstone homes to parks

with grass.

And old blocks with aesthetic

old-school fringe, from the ones

with glass and tint.

And If there is a fussy

Line, what is your store about?

That’s not to say by 8 I’d make

It home, rather that by 8

I’ll make it home.

At last in my group of blocks!

Ill make it safely home from where

I tread. Up from where I headed,

Finally here, finally home.

Two Lines That You Follow

Two lines that you follow,
Not single file like elementary
School;

Two lines not paths, for
There are many paths one
May follow and can cross.

Two lines where-within
structure meets premise
Meets subtext meets
clause meets
Purpose meets context meets.

Meets muse.

Two lines where-
Within everything met; in

between the
Lines, if you follow.

Plume to ink to sheet
Within two lines you follow.

Up

There is a well I’ve
Known.

A deep grey space that
looks like day old clay

where to
sorrows fled.

I’m sad for sorrow’s sake.

It was deep and grey.
Dwell the well,

Where I fell heavily.

Damp, cold, deep grey
crevasse

Where I
Laughed.

I smiled, as

All the sadness died upward,
Up and Up.

All the way to well,
for sorrows sake.

The Still man

Doctor

still man
Who took
Me in

Who said
I care
Or so
He
Did
n
‘t
.

Steadily Walking Along

Steadily walking along the
Storefronts
Of Bleecker Street
near Charles.

Steadily walking along
what came upon

Me on my night walk –
Not upon me, rather what I
happened upon;

A bar with a blunt name.
A waste truck pulled up.
After, a party of few

Came out to smoke
For outdoor chatter.

Stunted and
Sober the walker.

My foot lay flat
On the wall
By the bar that came
Upon my walk.

Not that came
upon my walk, rather
That I happened
Upon.

The Strides

Like a mighty feat,
Running on the track
And field,

And a winning
Streak, almost like,
Where were the opponents

Kind of streak.

They all saw it,
And were overt with zeal.

They watched him from the sideline…

They shed tears of elation.
All pains and losses gone,
All and all overcome.

Friends

Those with whom you
Sat, and jotted down the where

And what have

You. Talked

About
The where,
What have you

Lobbies of buildings
That.

In rooms with walls
That talk, not if they could.

Where do we go now?
We(you).

Placate the fools

Placate the fools
With disconcerinmemt.

Flattery goes a long a way
For the ones that

Looked the other way
When their leaves

Fell in Spring time (For when do
Leaves in the Spring Fall?)

And when we hear your
Clamour of

Thorny tree-branches
Wont in the cold,

I can only return the favor
With my spring time fall.

People That

People that
You don’t know,

(I.e.) like
“I know you by this many degrees”
Kind of People.

That you met
In your trauma.

The people you met
Before you may have started

Falling from your synthetic
High;

From the smoke and the fire.

From whom your White flag
You.

With whom your White flag
You.

Pursuing October

In those days I’d sit

By the window sill

In the cold dark daytimes

Of Winter.

I’d hear the blinds in the kitchen

tapping,

Then a chill followed by unwelcome cold

Breeze, from those gray days.

It was not morbid.

I was younger, Reveling in possibilities.

My friends would call me in the

Evenings, and we’d be

Be 40 year misanthropes

In Manhattan bars.

I was in the mindset of returning

To that small, wooded college

upstate NY, as I took a personal leave.

A sea of papers covered my

Bedroom floor with sophomoric attempts

At a novel.

I didn’t mean to make those memories,

Such is the way of nostalgia.

I’d let the tap from the blinds on

the window Keep calling me. I’d light a

cigarette and smoke.

Meticulously in moms kitchen. Letting

My thoughts ruminate. Giving into short

circuitry.

I didn’t need the Spring to

Bring me to my senses. It was still cold

Out, when I arose from that state

And closed the window shut.