I adore the way the
Presence of a toddler; little

Diaper steps from something to
Something else

Softens the eyes of grandmothers
Smiling between themselves

Remembering their grown
Children

As not.
Paper-skin hands

Veins of deepest ancient blue
Holding love so old

For small things.
New things.

Fresh, little human being
Royalty in our eyes.

Commanding
Without knowing.

Heart itself on two
Tiny legs.

sometimes a six pack of beer to drink between glasses of red
will reach the spot you cannot scratch
even love of poetry takes a back seat, but like all backseat drivers the muse will not be silenced for very long,will interrupt your ever increasing haze, with snippets of songs you will just have to write down!

when daily news
over weeks and months
reports events that  far exceed
most people’s homespun nightmares

can we react as poets
and not be seen as cashing in on the sensation
like all the media have come to do without regret?

It may be wise not to give in
to the temptation to create ******* of violence
but try to just suggest the essence of catastrophe

a lonely high-heeled sandal on the roadside
one flip-flop much too small to fit adults
a tough man crying without shame

there are events for which we don’t have proper words

this does not mean we should keep silent

Did you ever fit the cut?
Did you ever sing in key?
Did you ever light the match
To the pages your prayers have been?

Did you ever get in line
In your struggle to be free,
Did you ever cheat in love
To find some honesty?

Did you make it out the crowd
Just to find you are missing out?
Did you ever have too much drink,
End up ******* in the kitchen sink?

Did you ever cheat death
Just to feel alive-
Just to see what it felt like
On the other side?

Did you take drugs
For that same reason?
Does your mind shift
With the patterns of the seasons?

Do you look to the future
And forecast a storm?
Do you ever plan an early night,
Then fall asleep at dawn?

Have you ever fallen in love
And acted as if you have not?
Have you ever drank your demons
Under the table; under the rug?

Do you feel confused too?
You know, I haven't got a clue
what I am doing, where I am going
- is that the same for you?

the bus station is empty
except for a homeless bag lady,
a mother and her child.

the janitor sweeps yesterday's dreams
from the worn floor.

the mother moves to a corner.
her son a shadow always at her side.
sad eyes needs someplace to go.

the bag lady moves to the corner.
she says something to the woman and her son.
I can not hear but
the mother smiles and the boy laughs
and they appear happy
long after the bag lady
has gone to talk to the lonely janitor.

she touches his shoulder.
he turns, nods and smiles.
and she is Jesus
creating small miracles
and harming no one.

in the shush of the brooms sweep,
the sun rises.
the birds are singing.
she moves into the flow of her heaven

Explosions & gunshots
(Simulated)
says an urgent text
from Notify NYC
on my cell,
well recv'd

reported to be
in Central Park,
my heart now skipping beats,
not comprehending the detensing
the declensing cleansing of...
                                                   s i m u l a t i o n

thinking only
my park, my park,
my country, my country,
a ****** battlefield!

a second glance, it's just
a heads up to keep my
head down,
from my bud, my boy,
Free *****
having a bit of fun
with us Ameddicans

Shakespeare in the Park presents:
Troilus and Cressida
which contains the use of smoke, haze,
cigarettes,
explosions, loud sounds,
blank gunshots & strobe effects.

cigarettes? cigarettes?  ***!

there is no smoking in the park,
not even for poets and
Playrights of renown,
no exceptions made
in this hard-nosed town

and that ladies and gents
is how
one distinguishes a
genuine New Yorkah

neither smoke nor haze,
explosions and gunshots,
an apple-cheeked citizenry faze
these hardy city folk,
from their pursuit of
the golden yolk,
the reward of the
dog-eat-dog yoke,
worn in the pursuit of
Life, Happiness & Liberte

don't even thinking about
smoking in our park,
or near my face,
then the loud noises
may be more than merely

stimulating

than blankly,

s i m u l a t i n g....

I know you
needed someone
who is willing
****** flowers for you
and present them
with thorns all removed
but
here in the shadows
of the gnarled bramble
I'm still wild and unchecked
as I will never cease to be

Hyper reality
torched our dreaming eyes down
to charred empty sockets
and you should know
Like all the nasty swirls
wormholes swallow everything
because they aim to please
There is no what if
as it is apparent
we will -
in increasingly reductive fashion -
eat it all up
:remade rebooted recycled scrambled
deja pay-per-vu:
until
void
conquers
all

My coat is black
like the nights
I have long forgotten.

I left heaven
for the taverns.

I did my readings before daybreak
when the moon was far aloft,
but the nights got longer.

I kept putting things off
hoping I would discover a star
I knew was there.

Now I saw logs
and leave the leaves
where they fall.