"crosswalk" poems
I keep my feelings on a leash,
locked in a cage like the perpetrators of crime.
Sometimes I take them out for walks
to test out their rarely used legs on the ground.
Only too reel them back in,
too scared to let them wander,
wander towards those who let theirs loose freely,
not caring where they step.
For I have learned that this only leads to hurt.
Stubbed toes on the curbsides called love.
Failed attempts at crossing the crosswalk,
into the depths of someones shallow, unforgiving arms.
Not paying attention to the Stop sign right next to them.
Over and over, I wish I would've noticed that sign sooner..
Before all the heartbreaks and fallen tears.
And that is why
the footwork of my heart, kept captive in the dark,
is sleeping in silence for perhaps eternity
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
Yo Terry, you gone loco?
talking to yourself all the time now
oh, yeah?
is that a blue tooth or a blue ear?
is it surgically attached?
do you wear it to bed?
take it with you into the shower?
Man, you would never be so crazy
it can’t be you
it’s got to be your cell phone clone
hey lady, can you see that green arrow
it won’t last forever
what’s up…honk, honk
you’re on the phone?
we’re gonna to miss the left …turn
honey, you must be blind
how’d you get your license?
is that Lynne?
**** girl
it can’t be you
got to be your cell phone clone
A. K., another call?
and we’re supposed to be having a conversation
kickin’ it
now you’re text messaging under the table
and you think I don’t notice?
Dude, I’m not that stupid
and you, my brother, would never be that rude to me
it can’t be you
got to be your cell phone clone
yo Brenda, who you talking to out there?
oh…(whispered) cell phone clone
Leon, dude!
How many cell phones you need?
You’re talking on the one you got pressed onto your ear
There’s another on the table in front of you
Do you have one more?
You could be a juggler
Join the circus
Girlfriend, don’t you realize the light has changed
and you’re standing in the crosswalk in the middle of the street?
hang up the phone and step—yeah, you
Jeez...I…I see cell phone clones
They’re everywhere
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.
Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.
In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.
Who sees
clearer through rain.
Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.
Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.
Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.
Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
She thought her outfit was beautiful when she put it on this morning.
And it was.
She donned the skirt with care,
Kitten heels polished and perfect.
Adjusting the turquoise blouse in the mirror,
She brushed her hair,
Put on her makeup,
And left her apartment early for a stroll.
She walked down the city street,
Head up, shoulders back,
A faint smile on her fresh face.
But as she neared the crosswalk,
She noticed the looks.
First came the looks from the men.
"Hey there, beautiful," one said.
"Nice *** said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to cross to the other side of the street
So that they couldn't try to touch her.
Then came the looks from the women.
**** she couldn't fit her fat *** into a minivan," said one.
"Who does that ***** think she is,
Walking around in that outfit?" Said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to keep her head down,
So that they wouldn't think she was promiscuous.
Finally, she noticed the looks from her co-workers.
"Does that violate dress code?" Asked one.
"If we had a dress code, it would," said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to head home early
So that they wouldn't laugh at her.
When she got back to the apartment,
She took off the skirt,
The polished kitten heels,
And the turquoise blouse.
She pulled on a pair of sweats,
And decided to watch Netflix instead of
Facing the cruel outside world.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
orange bodies in the
yellow light in the afternoon
green thumbs in the garden
blue lips at night standing at the crosswalk
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
The city tosses, turns, and finally rises,
Surrendering to daylight and giving itself over
to the bustling movements of its citizens.
At the crosswalk, an old codger in rags holds a panhandling sign,
And nearby a bearded hippy plays guitar.
The sound of beggars, musicians, bored businessmen,
And all the teaming masses drift through back alleys,
And float through the air like the heady perfume of car exhaust.
Each street, each block, each break in the never-ending flow of man’s own personal jungle.
Brings to mind stepping into a whole other world.
Here, in one such strange nexus, a building likened to a castle,
Stares across a narrow stretch of road at an abandoned building,
Cracked broken and peeling, tattooed with graffiti from a hundred vagabond artists.
It conjoins directly to a new building,
the fresh, well maintained walls of which offer striking contrast.
The confused, confounding nature of the true jungle is in this manmade facsimile
More well reflected than anywhere else in the world.
The muggy air rings with life, the heat is stifling,
And for all that it has a strong allure.
This city, and all cities.
For in every corner, at every street, life bleeds from a city.
It grows from the crack like a flowering ****
And in truth,
Is a flower born in the streets of a city, atop the stem of a dandelion
Any less a flower than a rose from the heart in the woodland?
To me, that a flower could be so brazen, so proudly out of place,
Makes it all the more a thing of beauty.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Let's talk about this jazz club
that lives in my cellphone
in 1950 something with Chet Baker
back from the dead.
Let's toast to random notes taking flight
into the city in the middle of nothing nights we've known or been familiar with.
Let's shake hands cordially with the unfamiliar as in "deal", or "peace be with you" as if in church, tipping hats at that stranger passing by at the crosswalk some late evening in spring alongside dandelions sprouting forth from the pavement. Let's read between breaks of beats Kerouac must have hit in 1950 something San Francisco in yelps into the moonlit stages of the balcony of his boxcar boxcar boxcar gone by in a mad blur with whatever graffiti'd message of hope it bore on its sides. Let's hitch into the unknowingly infinite by way of the pen's mighty point. Let's unlearn the way syllable by syllable and demolish languaged signs like hurricane force candor blowing down fact-ory made terms and political decorum as smoke from the pages of their corporate handbook joins the Chet Baker solo note pilgrmage into the holy skyline. Let's move side by side unspoken as those jazz notes he forgot to play. Let's fill in those blanks with uninformed confidence beyond our abilities and grasp the unsayable names of our dreams remmebered. Let's see in seconds passing like bums inebriated with the holy moments gone too soon. Let's talk about nothing but this sacred second at hand on this clock unseen pointing overhead to the face of the moon gone full and hungry for attention. Let this happen only now. Only then will we talk about where it's going.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:44 AM UTC
dusk on the arm
sky empty of everything
but 3 orange clouds
as the sun is chased by
shadows
and shadows are chased
by the ache in my
outside inside
inside out
beauty hurts so
imprecisely
that I wouldn't
call it
pain.
I'd call it
the manifest destiny
of impermanence.
we inherit nothing.
one day I will die
and I will be forgotten.
and I will be okay
I will be wrapped
inside the
manifest destiny
of
impermanence.
I will be oh
I will be 'oh'
'oh my god
it's beautiful'
this manifest destiny
of impermanence
this manifest crosswalk
of the gods
eternally nodding hello
and waving
goodbye
god by
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
she sat next to me near the window
at starbucks on
41st and madison with a journal
covered in pastel lines and a black backdrop.
on the top center read “2011 was the year i screamed
**** life’ and **** me”
as a running header. she ran
through my head, tilting this little snippet
of her brain
towards me and i swear that she looked at me
but all i could do was make the sign of the cross
hoping god heard my muffled voice, drowned out by
the sounds of yellow taxis on the crosswalk and
whispers of angels on the corners asking for my pockets.
i’ve never tasted sixty miles
per hour but i can imagine it’s the same
as when she writes “your shirt looks like my thoughts”;
i’m falling in love too easily.
i want to read every inch of your body; your arms
have the bible etched in your veins and a fifth of my poems
are scribbled on your aortas; my mother’s wedding vows
are in my right eye and my father,
my father just takes care of himself. i don’t think my eyesight is
getting any better, you slid the note two spaces down
and i think i shed a tear but i can’t remember whether
you were smiling for joy or the fact you missed my hand.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
at the corner I hit both crosswalk buttons
and wait, eyes closed, to see if I can follow
the walk sign chirps like the blind men
I choose the first street that whistles to me
and walk to the opposite corner
the way the lights rotate, you would walk circles
if you followed the signs
eventually you must choose some arbitrary avenue
and either wait for it to welcome you
or test your luck in traffic
I choose left
then look up, hoping
to invent some new constellation
but the big parking lot halogens
bleed like blue inked milk into the sky
and the stars are specks, painted over
maybe for the better, I know too well
that I would see those galaxies spiraling
and dig dig dig into big big big questions
hitting all the major points
time and space and self and purpose,
purpose
and the mental ************ would be
a million endless tangents like a million little bits of magnesium
flashing in a firework, brighter than those parking lot halogens
but like every independence day
they flash and fizzle and then the sky is just smoky
and I start to feel small
so I walk into Big Lots to calm down
rummaging through the shelves,
not a single pad of paper outside of monthly planners
not a single blank sheet, not a single open page
not a single ******* one
no one wants to buy anything unless they know it has a purpose first
otherwise, it’ll end up in their desk,
blank and staring every time the drawer gets cracked open
and no one will have an answer for it
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
We met on the crosswalk
and headed for the shelters.
We stood opposite of one another
waiting for the bus to
take us away from each other.
That's friends-
In the city.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Service
the sections
we skim
on
four limbs,
integral
to the insect
cause
and effectively
crippling
the cross culture,
dumb and
auspicious
in the year
of the
opposable
thumb.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
a conscious
show of
subterfuge
and
pretentious
pretenses
concludes
in the dismal
aftermath
of a
stamped
and sent
ten cent
envelope
filled with
nothing
but hope.
Sacrilegious
privileges
construct
reality,
obstructing
the
graffiti art
along the
cosmonaut
crosswalk.
The fire,
fought
with wine
in the dark
etched an
imprint
in ash
where
the
cadre had
left its' mark
in the colors
of a
corroded
battery.
Under
spray
paint stars,
hollow,
half
sunken
sights
echo
through
the
illegitimate
children
of a
wind
chime.
Sulfurous
silver
lining
igniting
the ego.
A blue
reaction
in a black
field,
refraction
with a
maximum
yield,
it all glows.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
smooth
and rigid,
we fit in
the grooves
and service
the sections
in a
crippled
cross
culture
that
crawls
on all fours,
integral
to an insect
cause.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC
I thought, "holy **** man, look at yourself". The only change I ever witnessed for 3 years was the scrapings left ringing out on the bar rail. Always reaching out to a pocket for god and finding nothing. "I guess you can't refund the drinks, right?" She didn't laugh. I watched my circle get smaller, tired of the antics and my drinking became the **** of a joke. I watched my circle get smaller, my vision blurred like the future lining with a black viginette and with every drink I watched the bartender familiarize. Another? tap tap an empty bottle uses its manners and mine, with a painted smile. Until close she would become my therapist, and the salary was almost the same for the two after I left. After close the cooks offered sympathetic invites and lackluster conversations at the strip club next door. They laughed and drank and like ***** hawks watched their prey scale a poll like the fire they were fighting was inside. I saw no spark, no love given, no love received. I found it hard to love, when hating myself was the only thing I loved to feel. The grease stained fries were tickling the back of my throat on the last night I went. I found myself puking next to a coke head doing key bumps and I asked through hiccups "does the smell back here not bother you?" he said "what smell?". I wiped my mouth and stumbled home somehow. I kicked broken pieces of pavement and scoffed at the curb-sides hugging garbage. I realized through the streetlights that my shadow wasn't the only darkness following me at night. Out of cigarettes and out of my mind I resented this city for having so many bridges. The screaming trucks below gave some sort of comfort with my feet tangling with the breeze. The stretching hands from out-of-place highway trees grabbed at me and I felt the world rotating. The night that changed me, a three am crosswalk flashed its hand at me, but I kept walking.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
In this place
The air is so dry that water sulks.
The sky is a viscous brown mosaic.
The sulfurous fumes of old suffering linger.
A woman stares as if trying to unsee creation.
Words on a man’s tongue sound
like rhythmic coughing.
At the only stoplight
the crosswalk sign flashes “Don’t waltz.”
Strangers recoil from me
as if from an embarrassing stain.
People stream to the town square
for some indecipherable ritual.
Probably a funeral for the sun
or a snake oil sale.
Welcome to humankind’s true garden.
Not paradise but a place of desolation,
and what comes after is not exile but striving
and getting the hell out.
So long, mom and dad.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:37 PM UTC
Toad sand and frog pebbles,
warted rocks kicked and toed.
Tease the ocean with chocolate dipped feet,
spiced and salted teas.
Taper off mid-sentence, paragraphs tepid
long arms and zebra stripes, a crosswalk tepir.
Tocsin alarm clocks poison innocent bystander’s sleep,
slipping things in their drinks, filling their ears with toxin.
Tie a scarf around the forehead
of the middle child. Teach them beginning syllables of Thai.
Throes and spasms of overachievers
motivate for longer strides, faster throws.
Tense shoulder muscles
hide in sleeping bags, badly pitched tents.
Told injuries snuck in when the door opened,
we heard the miniature silver bells as they tolled.
Ticks count every second second, punctuated by tocks.
With each, a twitch, conscious nervous tics.
Titan tool boxes hold spare screws,
on Coeus’ threaded axis, we spin and tighten.
Terne sardine cans filled with mercury,
pollute our science tests, killing tern.
Tied red string around our pinkies so we don’t forget
when to go to the beach looking for clams at low tide.
Tacks pin talented teens to cork boards,
alongside instructions on regretting the harmonised sales tax.
Tire prints border the country,
left by jeeps that never tire.
Tails directing orchestras,
swarms of swan swim, tattling and telling tales.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Like you were a first trip to NYC,
or a perfect view of the cosmos
from that clearing on Sylvan Avenue,
I was agape and fawning while you sauntered
out from your double doors, to the end of your driveway,
to where I rocked on my heels eagerly
on Allen Dr. at 6:23
Come 7:15, we bedecked your body
with stripped and frayed Armani
in tribute to the Walkers we've seen;
cool-white fluorescence drew emphasis
on the harmony between your ivory simper
and each cobalt marble that rolled
and flicked beneath your tuckered eyelids
by some sort of beatnik artistry.
Frankly, my chest swelled with fever
when I noted the scrunch of your nose
askance to liquid-latex applications,
or the way black cherry sap wept
from the corners of your mouth
while dislodging the blood-capsule
in-between your molars
and your stately, hollow cheek at 7:50
And I noticed around 8:00,
when I had slowed you to a halt
near the crosswalk on Montauk
between Coastal and Le Soir
to fix the scar-tissue on your chin,
that if I ever knew there to be one,
you made a most stunning zombie
with my Tom & Jerry cap lining your scalp;
Which made the stain left by the makeup
worth the trade of my hat
in exchange for your company,
as we picked up a twelve-pack
at the 7-11 just down the street
before we returned to the party.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
My coffee’s getting cold so I
Top it off
The steam ran away and it
Might get lost
The humans sit and stare while at
The crosswalk
I pass and stand awake and wait and
Hear them talk-
-ing about the meat that grows in
Livestock
I guess I thought that caffeine was a weakness
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
I hail a cab. I’ve got to leave this part
of town, the Upper West,
dripping with fatty money.
At 97th I step in
and exhale, revived
by the sweating air in taxi cabs.
Through the window
I see
the imposing orange
of a tall
sewer ventilator,
steaming and
ignored—
At Columbus Circle,
a corner hot-
dog stand
is slow-
ly wheeled to
its moment-
ary place—
Broadway, with
one closed bank.
Empty, in back
the dusted black,
and iron beams?
Things lean
diagonal
against the walls,
a warning—
Faster, faster,
further south and somewhere
in the Village.
The rows,
rows and rows
of brownstone stoops:
quietly lined
along the street
patient, waiting,
delightfully clean—
The cab rolls to a stop. I pay and step out to the street.
Near Greenwich Street, the crosswalk
supports some types trying so hard
not to be doing all that much
and wearing hip clothes.
I’ll stop mid-street, look up real high,
and take in the sunlight
that’s slamming against the pavement.
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
There is no snow, a left turn is a careening roll
7, 8, 9 times, all along the road
Until the carriage turns over and makes us again feel whole
We count the moments that it stays, before it encrypts code
Juxtapose, lizards and rats, seagulls and bats
The underlying message is psychological attack
And when she opened up her mouth she let out a hack
So devastating and depressing that she turned and spat
These old bones and these old dreams are a glimpse of what's passed
And though the skies are turning gray, the blues, in mind, will last
A silver lining is a metaphor, it's never really been
A line designed to separate the sadness from the sin
My friends tell me I am a crosswalk between truth and hate
But in the end the truth is those who despise can relate
Detesting the human race is something worth the time
That's taken to reflect on my stubborn, fizzled mind
A shotgun is all we need to see the light of day
And one bullet is all it takes for them to steal it away
So grab your jewelry and your cash and clip them to your vest
Because your family wants to know the score when you lay to rest
Faultless isn't really a word, thoughtless is a theology
You say spell cat, I say spell Keynesian economy
Aristotle spent years trying to prove epistemology
Existentialism wiped him out with one written dichotomy.
Waiting for my ride to get to the drop of dreams
And when I take just enough I will be caught up in screams
The world around is shaking violently and everything gleams
And the golden from the sunshine on the buildings are my streams
I want to lie in branches made of paper and long legs
Keeping our eyes open, we're all stepping over eggs
Is it any wonder why my strife and struggles bleed?
A warm body and an acid bath are all I truly need.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
i stopped in the crosswalk to light a cigarette
then continued on my way down the street
the cars were of no threat to running me over;
they've been still in the streets all day, a traffic
blockade of holiday proportions
and as i stare through every windshield into the
warmth and luxury of the car's interior, I see nothing
but looks of misery, boredom, a sense of stagnant souls
and i began to laugh and smile like it's my ******* birthday
and i smoke my cigarette and become the only thing traveling
down this four way mall highway full of automobiles and people
they roll down their tinted windows and pelt me with their trash,
their negativity, their wasted times, their immobility and weight
and i begin to laugh harder, my smile lines stretching towards heaven.
merry christmas, shoppers!
merry christmas, chumps!
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 5:29 PM UTC
Went to the barber today,
Just to feel a razor at my neck.
So to, skipped a crosswalk,
Just to hear a horn.
I hopscotched the tracks,
But the yard’s been empty years.
So then tried the bridge,
When the wind’d never come.
Tomorrow’ll be lucky,
That’s what I tell myself.
That’s what I tell myself.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
it doesn’t have to mean anything more
than a crumpled up dollar bill in an open guitar case
i hope one day i’ll learn to keep my head down
to keep walking instead of getting stuck in front of windows
it feels like i’m loitering in the parking lot of everyone else’s lives
a heap of squeezed ginger ale cans
and candy bar wrappers crowding my bare feet
i guess eventually i’ll have to leave and find out
things always look better through a side mirror
i glance back and see the orange trees in the median
a runner almost getting hit by a left-hand turn
i’m so glad i didn’t have to watch her die
instead i watch two college students nervously laugh
shifting their weight from one foot to the other
beside the crosswalk button and i sigh a little
they are on one side of the glass and i am on the other
i seem to miss the things i made sure would never happen to me
tuck myself into bed buzzing with the engine of
a snow-covered train, a reckless ellipses
it is comforting to want what i cannot have
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 8:38 AM UTC
Truisum of false hopes
Deep into the shallows
of the wormhole where
the dream of awakened
resistance to bind, not glue
the mortal mind
closer toward the
distant reality
of where the
heart broke
into a whole
same heart
but not for you
not that we
like
we hate
it is human
right
wrong
wasted text
breathing positive energy
exhale negative neo
see what we like
we love
it is robotic
left
corrected
imagine a scene
a toilet seat
falling
airplane function
malfunction
girl on sidewalk
looking at sky
stupid, look
toilet seat
meets girls face
what we sow
we reaper
mission now
not mission impossible
walking on crosswalk now
love
oh my!
overly written
they say, deafness of their mind!
everyone thinking about
writing about it
being in love not of the heart, but deeper
further from all imagination
as pen touches paper
from far away
close
like our
love
one
come up stairs
stare way to heaven
hell at bottom
boots smokin'
life in a fastest lane
turtle speed
life
short
long enough
child in time
seeing the line
line between
good and bad
blind man
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:26 AM UTC
Stop before crossing the street,
look both ways for landmines,
my father on the battlefield
where this killing is justified,
from resident streets in ferguson
to gaza strip homicides,
My palms clasped tight in prayer,
from humanity's suicide
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC