Saturday night, to the Theater District, we Q train in a fast,
3-stop journey to see a Broadway Chess match, when,
recognized a poem instantly, when exiting the Times Square
subway station, the center of the grime universe in NYC,
there they, 20 or so scattered rose petals, in a layout that,
looked artistically, too far from random, and the brain seethed,
seized up, how came this to be, what mystery possessed this
unnatural sight, that thousands of footsteps ground into a
a state of semi-permanence, that passengers, did a two-step
surrounding maneuvering, lest they disturbed an ordinary
extra-ordinary visual electric human charging device
me, now perplexed observer, now fanatical obsessed by this
so typical new york mystery, not even deserving capitalization,
have for weeks let riot run constructing O’Henry short stories,
Whitman “leaves of grass” city see-scapes, and other ponderous
events of jilted brides, symbolically dirtying the scent of hope dashed, romantic immigrants celebrating their first foot falls to the Mecca of the city, and none satisfied…
poetically stymied, revert to the simplest, take what’s given,
perhaps a trap, a capture, an ego thrasher, a mystery meant to
die with me, a lesson in liturgical humility, you cannot always
fulfill the literary need, self-imposed, creative mastery the muses
desire, and ya gotta let it go, be the ordinary passerby, who smiles
knowingly, that sometimes you
just ain’t good enough. <nml>
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 10:49 AM UTC
Saturday night, to the Theater District, we Q train in a fast,
3-stop journey to see a Broadway Chess match, when,
recognized a poem instantly, when exiting the Times Square
subway station, the center of the grime universe in NYC,
there they, 20 or so scattered rose petals, in a layout that,
looked artistically, too far from random, and the brain seethed,
seized up, how came this to be, what mystery possessed this
unnatural sight, that thousands of footsteps ground into a
a state of semi-permanence, that passengers, did a two-step
surrounding maneuvering, lest they disturbed an ordinary
extra-ordinary visual electric human charging device
me, now perplexed observer, now fanatical obsessed by this
so typical new york mystery, not even deserving capitalization,
have for weeks let riot run constructing O’Henry short stories,
Whitman “leaves of grass” city see-scapes, and other ponderous
events of jilted brides, symbolically dirtying the scent of hope dashed, romantic immigrants celebrating their first foot falls to the Mecca of the city, and none satisfied…
poetically stymied, revert to the simplest, take what’s given,
perhaps a trap, a capture, an ego thrasher, a mystery meant to
die with me, a lesson in liturgical humility, you cannot always
fulfill the literary need, self-imposed, creative mastery the muses
desire, and ya gotta let it go, be the ordinary passerby, who smiles
knowingly, that sometimes you
just ain’t good enough. <nml>
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