That Itself Is A Poem

a beautiful
woman walks
past you
in the lonely
poetry section
at Strand
and that
itself is
a poem

While You Were Sleeping

While you were sleeping
and while you are awake
The dust settles on my boots
My wheels are greased by pizza
My fingers sore and wounded
with these tools in my hands
taking sweat, blood, and tears
Nothing is ever easy
and sure as hell not free
But who said it would be?
My material is in order
and I added a few beers
with one foot in the land of nod
I am living my own dream
Built piece by piece
with all the other dreamers

Morning Conductor

My morning conductor
always sounds like some
bouncer in one of those clubs
where you will never find me

Maybe he looks like
a Hell's Angel in black
Harley Davidson boots
a full beard and sunglasses

His voice is abrasive
when he tells us
to be patient in his way
like we're an inconvenience

He announces each stop
loathsomely with disgust
like an old ex-girlfriend's
name he'd rather forget

Or maybe he is happy
with his face clean shaven
he has a little Pomeranian
and is into bonsai gardening

I don't want to know
just make sure you
always stand clear
of the closing doors

My Days Are Somewhat Unique

My days are somewhat unique. I handle multimillion dollar objects in the heart of New York City. I can walk out a door and down to the subway where a homeless man is peeing and wiping himself with a napkin. The contrasts in experience are remarkable. The gaps in life are beyond full comprehension.

So on and so forth

A conductor
practices
his flute
between stops

A father
to his two
toddlers says
Gentle hands
and inside voices
so on
and so forth

Airport Authority

Airport Authority Poem

Blew through TSA
No shoe check
Because freedom
Transportation constipation
In Newark New Jersey
Garden State Gate
Baggage claim arrows
Network security and
Global reliability ads with
Happier healthcare stories
I'm three cups deep at Ruby
Tuesday on Wednesday
7:30 a.m. American jet set trash
Too much Sangiovese the
night before in the studio
Drawing in ink is sexy
Now boarding group D
D as in delicious
Onward to Texas
I am a writer

Somewhere Over America

Dispatch at 32,000 feet. That's a lot of shoes stacked high in a low oxygen cold environment. Too windy up here for balancing that well. I'm sitting in a sky chair warm on the south side of a plane looking out over a menagerie of cloud formations and there's this thunderhead almost as big as Donald Trump's head. Can't fly to Dallas out of J.F.K. too soon. Air travel sure beats driving and wagons. Club sodas and iphones and cream-o-land in coffee, flyover country. The wing is a perfect work of art. It's not a knife cutting through air like some aesthetically disagreeable steak knife. It's more of a pie server swimming in a sea of decorative whipped cream. Suddenly everything makes sense. I'm not hungry. If only more signage was embroidered. Would we take the world more or less seriously? In the future we'll have mute buttons for other people's children. My club soda is particularly excellent though seltzer was my preference. We were willing to make a compromise. A nice couple moves to the back of the plane to join the mile high club. I'm sure of it. That or everyone wants to pee. Indeed everyone wants to pee. Maybe I'll join in the spirit of the times. Now I'm thirsty for for a beer or scotch. My gum isn't doing it for me as I groove to Mr. Big Stuff in my ear. Contemplating aeronautics and flight, it's been nearly a century since the start of World War I and we are still in the wake of that radical and crazy world. I'm ready for a nap. DB 6.25

Hot Potato

Cats sex in the alley
They hiss and scratch
With groceries in my hands
The bags are full and heavy
Night lit by streetlight
and ice glows down below
Chills get to be too intimate
Does frost it know itself to be frigid?
I'm looking forward to
roasting my sweet potatoes

Round Trip

I ordered not one but
two Manhattans
from the Italian bartender
a few blocks from
the Brooklyn Bridge
I nursed them slowly
savoring sweet bourbon
like a lazy rain
whetting my earthly
appetite for love and lust
remembering fondly
Cinque Terre and
the warm Ligurian Sea

Evergreen

At the curbside in
the city lay cut
evergreens in winter
their collective scent
wafts up and down
the avenues singing
those spruce tree blues
at every street
this felled forrest
is ready for collection
by the mulching men

Red Head

She's so good at Tetris
and so bad at holding
onto subway poles
Her red coat
and red head
She's good at smiling
in every direction
A rosy complexion
especially with gin
She's my Russian
and with
a wink and a grin
we're home

Wood Turning

It spins so fast you pay attention to a fuzzy edge and the feel of your tool. Sometimes you can shave off a year or more of growth in one pass, a different kind of time machine. The motor hums and the chisel purrs as you bring shape to that which already had shape, bringing use to that which already had use.

Those Autumn Leaves

Those Autumn leaves
danced in the dark alley
in circles they swirled
like dervishes
as we folded fitted sheets
we danced around in socks
and flannel to a song
of the last dryer turning
The warm knitted blanket
soft in our hands
like we are soft in our hands
and the homemade pizza
warm in our mouths
as the cold wind looked on
through our window
in jealousy to what
we had happening
The oven gave off
a most welcome heat

Prediction True

Train dancers
should all be given
a TV show
so I can remote control
I don’t know if the dancing
hurts more or the music
and we are all monkeys
flying through space

Show time folks!
What time is it?
Show time!

Why, that brunette
has a big baguette!

New Friend

I pretended to sleep this morning
Although the hangover was real
I could not muster the courage
to say goodbye
Last night we all broke bread sharing food, whiskey and wine
We were all smiles and we were rich with joy and laughter
Now I am another floor mat of my own making
But you, you
you were a delight and now
In better body and mind
I wish you well on your
many journeys new friend

From Midtown

D Train to Ferlinghetti's
Coney Island Of The Mind
In Autumnal evening bliss
Lost in the text nearing
The Atlantic Ocean and
Grey dulling skies high
Again over the holy land
That borough land the
Land of Kings Brooklyn
Many tongues all of them
Speak the language of
Love high over car washes
And laundromats and buffets
Drugs, Wine and Liquors a
Slice of the American strip mall
Pie piled so high so high you
Could die an unnatural death
In this land this foggy land
Where the smell of Nathan's
Famous hotdogs penetrates
The haze of old glory

Fragment

I found a strand of my wife's
hair on my coat sleeve.
Glimmering its synthetic red
I was not prepared to be
with a part of her
in that moment.
That strand
That strand
Was only a fragment
of the one I wholly
loved and did not
in that moment have.

Fathers and Sons

I see fathers
walk with sons
and think of
what a man is
a man in
this strange place
where he is
to become the
man he is
destined to be
I see fathers
walk with sons
on shoulders down
Sterling place and
Washington Avenue in
Autumn in America