We all have a friend
Who didn't make it very old
Whether you were there at the end
Or somewhere in life's between
I bet you would give your weight in gold
For a chance just to see them,
For one more night out in the world
Or even just a small talk.
All you have is a short mental walk
Through the times that seem too small
Stuck in a place without you at all,
And I wonder how you're doing
Wherever you are.

I made my first friend in second grade,
He was the kid who seemed to always find a way
He learned to ride a unicycle
Making his own parade.
He got me out of my house in the middle of fall,
Went swimming in my pool,
While the algae was stuck to the walls.
It was freezing and slimy.
I'm sorry your world was unwinding
And I wish I would've known you more.

I don't have the right words
Because truly none of them are right
I've thought about the fact you aren't here
On quite a few nights.
I send my regards to all you knew,
I'm sorry to say a part of my childhood
Feels like it passed with you.
This is the only way I have to show
I miss a man I barely got to know,
My old friend John O.

Horror grows on moons too fond of blow,
Pythons snort snow ponds God forgot to flood.
Grow strong worthy worms,
tooth rot won’t stop clocks slowly, so floss.
Knock on wood, soft looks bloom soon,
Months go on so.
Look, hold form,
Noon folds to gloom,
Moon stoops down, blow looms
On loony snoot.

~took a walk in the city today,
and this happened in the O'Henry traditional way~


the blind man crossing E. 15th,
does not look, nor does he care,
all foes on-coming,
come hither, he dares

his light is red,
yet his cane extended,
he click clacks steadily ahead,
unaware and unbeknownst,
his new step by step sidekick,
Sheriff Natty,
is writing an air poem to a
taxi driver with his
shotgun *******,
a NY gesture of
welcoming *******...

a green light means passage
is a taxi's right,
but my left shoe firm
attached to his bumper,
plus multiple looks mine,
any of which could ****,
his argumentation poses
do somewhat chill...

the sheriff of the city, his motto,
sic transit finger gloria

~

among the sadder sights
of city life
is contrast...

the dark-only coolness
of an Irish bar,
on a bright spring day
when life and love
is bud sprouting
while old white men,
on single soiled solitary stools,
their colored cheeks green
from the reflection of
TV emerald diamond fields,
sipping many pre-game $3
Guinness draughts

around the second inning,
they switch, onto
boilermakers to make
the languid afternoon stretch on,
this I know for sure,
for in the large gilded mirror
behind the bar,
see the barkeep's back asking me,
"what will it be for you
this fine spring day?"


~


next to the bar, in the corner market,
an old man's hands tremble in an old man's way,
in a way I only know thru his testimony,
as he does his daily self-feeding,
his wallet removed, fumbling for two
single soiled solitary one dollar bills.

the shopkeeper's fingers
beat the counter impatiently,
the old man's beer brown bagged,
transport ready, though the old one
rather be next door,
the extra Dollar saved causes
a last minute delay, shaky fingers,
asking for an extra purchase,
a small can of dog food please,
so he can watch the game at home
and share the same meal
with the man's real and best,
and only true spring weather friend

~

the mayor proclaimed as a matter of
public safety, public decorum,
a pack of three or more woman
wearing all black Lululemon athletic wear,
were now banned from being outside after nightfall

later this night, in Carl Schurz Park,
many vamp(ire) voices were heard
singing the lyrics to
"i want to do bad things to you,"
but they staked him only
to a free color reeducation

~

these takes I witnessed,
all or some,
these tales I took
some or all,
from beneath my skin,
where city streets grit
injected beneath my skin
came with the title,
City Boy,
and honored me
with its O'Henry life and lore,
and the vision to believe what is
in my bloodstream
just another true tale of life in Manhattan.com~

All unconscious in our time
We loved what we knew not
Love is love and in its fullness
Knows not itself for that we need
Art and memory but in our time
All we had was the moment and
If we only knew how precious it
Was we could not have loved it
More; we would have loved it less
That  is what makes it so poignant.
We pass thru time in a sleep.  We
Do not see its passing until it is no
Longer but is changed into another
Time. Our time is particular and a
Peculiar dream.  Quaint our lives
Now seem. The music, the town.
The neighborhood. the people we
Knew. the people we were.  We pass
into another  time unaware.  Remember
The penny candy store. An old man. the
Single glass counter in one small room
In an old wooden building all long gone
Seems like only yesterday I used to stop
In there on the way home from elementary
School but it was long ago and all is changed
Now is a mystery and we still love it more
Than we can ever know in the magic moment.
Those Amber times seen thru the dusty glass

Cry with me a little my friend for times gone
You were innocent then and did not know it
And   will be again when  you wake from this
Long dream  it will be true that it too was loved
By you and  that you too were loved. in the gold
Of His memory  Held  in the psalms of His hands

"And ever has it been that love knows not its own
depth until the hour of separation,"  Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet

"You paved paradise and put up a parking lot
You don't know what you've got till its gone..."
Joni Mitchell Blue Album

If only I could keep it locked outside of me
If only it could cease to exist
If only I didn't have to scratch that
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
itch

If only I could swallow it
Dissolve it in my stomach
If only I could
KNOW for sure if I would or wouldn't

It is like an earwig
Creeping through my brain
I know my actions fuel it
But, oh, it drives me insane

If only I had control
If only I could see
That control is the only thing
That gives it power over me