Last night's debauchery is washed away.
   The front stoop drenched in morning light.
   Blood fades into a stain that looks like Jesus
   with a wink and smile. That happens in Queens.

   I wake from dark dreams in a room deluged
   in sunlight so bright I'm blind to my ugly
   truths from last night. I could eat a horse.
   I find the diner. That happens in Manhattan.

   The heat is long shut off and I light Sterno
   to melt some ice for a spot of English tea.
   Sunlight won't come this far north past 96th st.
   It knows better. This happens in East Harlem.

Kids wear you
as a Halloween mask

The only thing you've ever
been invited to do is leave

You've known the term
'social distancing' all your life

Even Covid-19 crosses the street
when it sees you coming

Your words arrived here
As splendid as could be
Light, funny, dark or romantic
Pondering's, idioms, truths
Or stories told with color or grey
Reposting, sending them
On their way to others eyes
To read and enjoy
It’s with appreciation
For fellow writers
You are poets and you know it

I've known you for years. Grandad introduced us.
    You always made the room glow and laughter flow.
    You calmed me when I betrayed those I promised
    to never betray. You made me smarter than I was
    and clever when I was dull and modest when clever.
    There's always a madness in the air when you grace
    us with your presence. Thing is you make me ugly.
    I dance on tables with lamp shades on my head and
    drop my pants and invite kisses and go naked at noon.
    I plan your funeral. I bury you in a potter's field.
    I've tried burying you before. Like Christ you rise.
    I put a stake in your heart and salt on your grave.
    You refuse to be banished from the lives we live.
    Maybe you'll stay buried beside me in my grave.