My sister sent some money 'cause things had gone to hell
She said, "You don't belong there Honey, a trip home will do you well."
On a three day smelly bus ride away from what had been obscene
turned my nose to New York City where the air was fresh and clean.

Pulled into Central Station, a different kind of highland
was met by my dear sister, a castaway on Gov'nors Isand.
Being broke was half the trouble,and we played it like a game
but the nasty shoe debacle, well it made me take the shame.

I didn't know quite what to do, but I knew I had a job,
a suit of hounds-tooth off 'The Give', and my hair cut in a bob.
The suit was fitting perfectly, for shoes we found some flats
pink with silver circled cut-outs, kind of clownish without spats.

Well I stood there in a laugh-cry, 'cause my job was in the city
I gotta make these babies black or be lookin' 'Hello Kitty'.
So she gets that strange expression, perhaps as from the Lord
In an empty apartment down the hall was some paint for the old baseboard.

We laughed the night we dipped the shoes,laughed until we cried
And early the next morning, it seemed the paint had dried.
You could see that they were shiny and ready for the weather
and from an eyeball's distance they could pass for patent leather.

I was ever careful as I slipped my stockinged toes
into brand new 'hello baseboard' shoes and no-frills tailored clothes.
Mincing along, but gingerly I hopped aboard the ferry
missed the bus to Beekman, in the dark, the walk was scary.

Made it the building not a minute did I lose
I tidied up my hair and then I glanced down at my shoes...
Blasted ****** got 'em muddy, bits of paper grass and sand
I heard my toes scream out, "Hey, buddy, for shoes, tar paint is banned!"

Quickly then I kicked 'em off and tried to wipe 'em clean
but every little thing unstuck took off the tacky sheen.
I did my best to conceal a sob but had to pay my dues
as more than one allergic snob caught sight of battered shoes.

I tried to blacken out the pink, with a big old magic marker
but folks complained about the 'stink', and not a day was darker.
At 5 PM, back on the street, with nowhere else to roam
my misery was made replete, as I tracked some more dirt home.

for Sia and Gia

~
actionable,
seeking perfection,
yet this morning,
an unnecessary.

lying in bed, window gazing,
Barber's Adagio for Strings
fills the inner ear's atmosphere
in tandem, in cahoots
with
a new day's pastel palette,
whose new hues
hew away
half-remembered distasteful recollections
of rapid eye'd drowsed darker dreams.

bereft of cares,
'to do' lists
do not exist,
t'is only merest minorest inconvenience called
gravity,
preventing,
my physic shell from
being jet seat ejected
to ascend heavenly sky'd

even love's labor lost,
a pained yet pleasurable strife,
the best of the best
of a worn and torn cycled life,
all shed, all put to one side
like incidental music.

seeing light earthed birthed,
perfection granted to the early risers,
Massenet's Meditation turn violins
from soothing turns to sudden orchestral tumult,
causing a misstep of doubtful questioning,
a momentarily soul stumbling
crashing cymbalic disintermediation

Copland's Appalachian Spring replaces,
retracting, sealng wax away
all concerning distractions
of my concerting pastoral.

and tho a season too late,
for this is my time,
summer time,
the time of my music,
my seasoned, annualized
concerto with the Earth,
his music is most
well come

these,
the Summer Man's
days of awe,
days of tranquility,
days of simplest tones,
no atonal atonement requests necessary,
for mellifluous harmonious in everything,
perfection is given, not taken,
well received
in calming serenity,

Bernstein's West Side Story then presents,
so out of place
to where I current am,
a natural sensational day beginning
on the very near-to-the-end
of a long isand

(tho the West Side, en veritas, was
my teeming small town community,  my noisy, honking
rooting birthplace story)

Lenny composes a dance of reminder that
somewhere,
there is a remainder,
somewhere,
there is a place for us,
even me.*

and it is
here, now,
in the uncontested sky
over my blue-green grass,
that leads to my Peconic shoreline,
where I hear a new world symphony
of cawing birds and silent bunnies,
dancing deer and zzzzing insects,
completing my
natural composition,
the playlist perfection of
me