Aug 17
SO: SCHEHERAZADE ME!
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
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.
*
One of my earliest memories is being bathed by my sister Junie in a tin bath with a roaring fire as this emanated from a radio. Homeless in NYC I didn't think I would encounter it again in the way I did! The blind man even on a battered old harmonica was still able to give it it's "Rimsky-ness."
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
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.
*
One of my earliest memories is being bathed by my sister Junie in a tin bath with a roaring fire as this emanated from a radio. Homeless in NYC I didn't think I would encounter it again in the way I did! The blind man even on a battered old harmonica was still able to give it it's "Rimsky-ness."
