My art is the way I re-establish the bonds that unite me to the universe. -A.M.
Before she fell They were Hated She, for her sudden rise And he in turn for his shaggy, loping omnipotence The sure-footed authority marked by silver squares heading nowhere.
She was the little Visionary and he, the Blue Chip So very messy The Tall and The Small
If you were sitting at the bar Somewhere around Mercer Street And those two came in “Ugh” Went off inside all the heads in their line of sight A palpable mental groan As they hung up their coats And waved at various tables Making their way like penguins through recalcitrant faces eyes focused on a glass of beer.
Again, it will all end badly, we thought Nursing our drinks. Tonight
Piling out of the last bar brawling on slick cobblestones under the yellowish streetlights of Prince or West Broadway Arguing about nothing and everything “I will out run you Old Man!” You could hear it bouncing off the sidewalk like reverb Whispering around corners “You will be surpassed!”
Birdgirl, I too look to eternity, he states full of drink and exasperation. I step and step again. I am walking there. I am not a bird and you will see that I need no wings.
“You will be surpassed!”
Blood and more blood A face planted with busted lips Flattened Your body crushed into the earth Over and over Having fallen Waiting for burial, entombed in flora Welcomed Reclaimed To be disappeared But not just yet.
What had you unleashed Mija? What did you already know?
I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE! I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
In editorial spreads we saw flared American jeans in Rome You said that they understood you there And in Cuba too We understood you very well right here, you know. It’s not so hard.
The doorman said he heard someone cry out And then a soft thud a moment later From the deli’s rooftop next door Crusted guano Broken, forlorn and misguided leaves Cigarette stubs with pinkish ends A stray tabloid cover page and that peppery NYC grit in your eye and nose and under your fingernails all reclaim you to a concrete womb Welcome back!
“ICARUS DOWN” read The Post
How easily we lost our envy after those 34 floors Earthbound Strait shot
It was all foretold in the telling Now folded into a history of sorts That of an earthy primordial Fertility cut short by a ruddy man rather than a thousand compulsive chalklines drawn around a singular and knowing corpse There are ramifications for deals made in feathers, b lood puddles and mudlood A recipe for the reunion of force fields Folding you back within its arms Where you belong What an excellent day for an exorcism.