Entering Summer's sweet solstice where
daytime has won the war,
children born beneath the raspberry moon, to be reborn and reborn again midst stillness.

Here I see
old arms stained with
glass and vermilion
sticky alcohol and memories of
parades illuminated in New York.

whole city sulking in it's own gentrified poverty
looking at itself in a faded mirror,
silver wrinkles
kissed by June's many modern gentleman
(in quotations)                                                    Th­e lonely towers howl
                                                            ­                  benevolently

transit thru factory neighborhoods and catching up on O'hara,
fatigued by staying up to watch dry mornings repeated.

looking for meaning in various signs
adverts
columns
shop names
and streetcorner dramas

the same strange song plays!
picking up where you left off at the clothing store or the laundromat
it's a soft tune I'm not complaining but variety would be nice
this anonymous song/here it is/again/
the one that plays in the background of our sleep

a child is wrapped in red silk sprawled out on the pattern seats of the bus, he pretends to be unconscious
but I know better
gasoline keeps our eyes alert

Few days later I'm embraced by rooftop wine,
a sleepless night watching American Graffiti beside a
red stone on a mantle plugged into the wall,
The Mamas and Papas
"Spanish Harlem" in the living room
with a bought wrap from the cafe up the block
and the morning is mysterious and uplifting

"awoo
lalala
lalala
lalala la               there is a rose in Spanish Harlem"

we're tired people that see enough in the world to stay awake
there's a story here
and briefly written or explained pasts  
that will soon be replaced with whatever humid
accompaniment lurks loudly beyond the doorway.

A distant man with a knack for the harmonica searches for his cigarettes
by empty diners
and psychic shops of Christmas colors
vibrating lucidly 'cross the sky,
and he can apparently hear
the feedback to an amp used by a man
that changed his life
H E N D R I X
I snapped a few pictures of him
I wish him all the best

he told us of a past-Jamaica
and the dreams he brought there,
a girl he fell in love with
and her incredible ***
and I mean just incredible
you wouldn't believe this ***
and he never got with her
or the girl who used to frequent the church here
but he's staying optimistic, and
so am I man.

So am I.