If you’ve ever struggled to keep your eyes fixed
on two passing ships as they drift
onto opposite directions,
then you have a sense
of what it is like
to walk in New York City.
The city of old and new,
a close knit community of loners striving
even at failure.
Yet, the afternoon skies are honest,
gray and bright.
There’s warmth still
to be found on cold nights,
all sorts
come alive on that cement island of lights

Pale light
shines down
reveals the blank page.
Nothingness; an opporunity
- infinite.
the fool rushed in,
fiddled with some words,
adding up to nothing.
That’s the worst of it;
light wasted
and ink
and paper.

Innocent is the unborn,
till it's first breath.
A product of guilty parties,
thus ignorance allows it's visceral cries.
I beg,
condemn them not,
their fate (like all) is sealed.
Death,
not one soul has yet forgotten.

Waves arrive at the shore
tired of such
   entanglement.
Your enamored stare;
Like the moon
    Stares at the sun.

In your hair you retain
White sand and a sea flower.
     You adorn my sight
With a bright reflection.
   and the ocean enraged,
              Mirrors our love.

This ache seems to be
like Papa's White Elephants;
valuable in a sense
I've yet to understand.

Busy body, tranquil mind,
a joke I say!
The fishing line
is ever tangled.

Another
wasted morning,
another
throwaway.

The absence of a beat,
an empty seat
dust covered clothes;
a fight concerning who's valued most.
Who is entitled to this or that?
Meanwhile the lawyer stares at his watch.
Little Jenny asks for grandpa,
the room is a sudden quiet
and the temperature drops
and the apple on the desk continues to rot.

tippy toeing around once more,
still all that fails is true
and lies are grand for while,
until, always until.
-alone isn't always solitude
or lonely,
but it is.
I see the words in the air
and when I reach,
they scatter.
I'm keeping quiet
and very still,
maybe something will happen,
or someone might come in and talk
and I can put the pen down
and admit it's useless.