It appeared as if
the very air were

asleep.

Even the dark was
asleep.

An harmonica stained
the night with itself.

An ache that stole
into the soul.

Snowflakes fell
in slow slow-motion

as if they were
sleep walking.

Time seemed to so-
lid-if-y

congeal about
the moment

frozen like a rabbit
in the headlights of life.

"Why me!"
the moment seemed to say
"Why me?"

"Awww shut up!"
I told it.

It shut up.

An obese moon
like a stray dog

tried to follow me
home but home

was the other side
of an ocean.

Still, it dogged
my every step.

The blind man kept on playing
as if

he were the soundtrack
to the film I

had become.

NYC was nothing like
its movies.

Only the cold
was real.

I dropped change
into the blind man's tin cup.

It made a music
all of its own.

He looked at me
with both his ears.

He smiled with
all of his self.

TALES OF THE KALENDER PRINCE
got lost

in the ensuing silence.

He mumbled a thanks
in an unknown tongue

maybe
Klingon.

The moment kept on
trying to find meaning

like an unsure actor
asking what's its motivation.

There was none
to be found.

My footsteps walked away
almost leaving me

behind.

TALES OF THE KALENDER PRINCE
started up again

as if the night had
pressed PLAY.

"Well....I'll be
Rimsky Korsakov'd!"

I attempted a smile.

It hurt.

The harmonica's voice
eclipsed by the police

siren.