She moves fast like a city
full of names, things to do,
and places to be.
No matter how fast she moves,
there is always a spot for you.

Regardless of where you go,
not every woman, not every city,
is the same.

She highlights her personality,
the buildings of her priorities,
Her personalities,
like dominos
uncovered and placed strategically.

The way she was raised,
the not so pretty parts,
Behind the well known parts
of her,
not necessarily put away.
But still, there is a place for you.
Whether it's a quiet night in,
or an event organized
to get to know each other better,
the margins of her heart beat for you
Between the counties.

Although she moves fast,
and one day with her varies from the next,
she's not afraid to let you know that she's busy.
Once she handles all of her business,
be ready to catch up on all that missed time.

But don't forget
she doesn't just find the time
to call or text.
She shows up.
You too are a part of her world

Lost was I,
In the dark streets,
Of this winding city.
Looking over my shoulder,
Searching for landmarks,
Any building I knew.
I was approached by a man,
And I raised my defenses,
But his light demeanor calmed my anxiety.
He spoke to me,
A melodic tune in his voice,
'They call me happiness,
I see you're lost in the dark,
Come with me and let me show you,
Everything you're missing.'

Poets coming into Rochester,
Welcome to the perfect poetic city!
We're dark in November,
Blinding in May.
Sleepy streets,
Winding roads.
Dinner at a diner,
Welcome to your second home, it's a winner's city for sure.

Everything is normal
so not much to sing or say.
No summer thunderstorm,
the snow was magical only for an hour.

Old men
aren’t removing women’s ******* with removable dentures.
A belly laugh now and then,
an empty belly’s holy.

With simple joy
mortals may forget to fear their deaths.
Simply put,
we do not survive. But what an adventure!

I heard an archangel cry
Don’t hurt the trees!
Also, save democracy.
Also, stop barking, believing in that higher power.

What’s Ken doing today?
Watching TED talk lectures,
planning next Spring’s garden.
It’s Death, not the Jewish king, in your rose garden.

As climates change
species escape predators
and predators chase down prey.
Choose sacrifice or blame.

I look at faces
and they look at mine, mute, animated spirits,
black wet rocks,
victims among flames.

I like my anonymity,
lost in my own city,
in the shade of a gazebo,
a mosquito’s acceptance of its position among a million mosquitoes.

I found the city a pitiless thing.
It smelled of steel, concrete and the bay.
I use to sit on the sea wall that edged
my old college condo, the one I shared
with a black cat, and sing Otis Redding-
skipping the whistling part of his song
because my lips could never purse the
right tune- and watch the tide roll in
catching rainbows in the sun’s glint.

It  was the inhabitants I couldn’t take,
all rude and loud, smelling of salt
and stale fish scales and crab shells,
so snared in tiny toils, frail and idle,
their itching needs thirsty and *****.  
I lost my wonder in the traffic dust,
the night haze and starless nights.
I avoided touching that life less
it should defile me in its lost light,
night terrors and phantasms.

Then, in the small church in
the out of the way corner,
I found her, a strange vision
trembling, ready to emerge
just past the reach of my mind
and the urge of my will. She existed
beyond all jaded aims and
drab  dissemblements,
something unfounded, unbuilt
but ready, waiting to be built on.

On my birthday she bought me
a lounge chair to grace my
unfurnished balcony, on the
very day I purchased my own.
And there we sat (my desire),
watching the city unseal itself
across from me in a sweltering love,
constantly revealed, being
forever built and rebuilt on
in pain and unfathomable will.