Stuck between the Nile and acceptance
is the tree that grows in Brooklyn
caged like a lion clinging to the memory
of clean water and light
still a lone, a loner of the moon
once requested the thought
is this living just dying?

When I was 15, I wouldn’t have believed you
if you told me all of this about constant lament
in a Red painted Animal House of scapegoats
that I’ve yet to see

it’s
        streets of beige
it’s
        fast food bad food no food spilled milk or beer
it’s
        the South no the East maybe West probably North
it’s
        in the air the water the meat there’s just too much heat to breathe or hold a job
it’s
        hourly wages and daily commutes of gypsy peddlers in a town I’ve never been to
it’s
        the cigarettes or nicotine my useless spleen filtering things I should never inhale or drink
it’s
        divorce rates leading to ***** flicks c-sections finding acquaintances on monitors after dark only able to generate laughter over years of tears
it’s
        women
it’s
        pain
it’s
        the migraines we get when we're waiting on the rain to paint the beige streets bronze
it’s
         rolling trees metal trucks frozen lakes lumber jacks and ice fishing
it's
         the anxiety of right wrong bad good all grey in the sunshine without you
it’s
         the words of times you said meaning more to me than it ever could to you
it’s
        the colossus of Wall St. overbearing my own suit and tie un-ironed or cared for but necessary     none the less
it’s
         CCTV the fight for power Government foreign travelers or terrorists Project Paper clip MK Ultra Plum Island persuasion propaganda Paul Wolfowitz
it’s
         who governs what you can afford when you sit tattered on a curb after earning another mans bread
it’s
        what has or has not been said 7 times or none that still lingers on the grass out front of home or house
it’s
        no matter how big you are you still answer a toy phone handed to you by a two year old
it’s
       the tears of Alexander when he realized there were no more worlds to conquer

Run outside to find mink flowers,
unicorns and molecules
all the things you want to bring
to the party

They are all but particles
scattered across the living room floor
or maybe lines on a mirror
through a hopeless door

Entertained by the night
entranced with the stars
in their fight against the sky
ascertain caged lions
who cling to the memory
of flight and thoughts of Einstein
that define our feelings or some ****

There is reason for the gaze
but the beasts miss
used their rhyme but they're still able
to find their way back
I know because I'm always reminded
atoms are what make us matter