Thursday, August 11, 2011

soft serve

Last night as we approached the Mr. Softee truck, there was a cop waiting in front of the adjacent street-level subway elevator but it looked like he was blocking our ice cream access on purpose. Until he explained what he was doing standing there. There were several ambulances parked around Columbus circle and the man in a wheelchair with his head resting to one side and his eyes closed tongue out was wheeled to one of them as I tried not to watch too carefully.

We had just been to Damrosch park near Lincoln Center to see Laurie Anderson perform. She made reference to a white weather balloon rising with the word "Delirium" printed on the side. She said she knew a woman who lived on Mott street on the 3rd floor. Every year during the San Genarro festival they set up a ferris wheel 2 feet from the woman's window so she could see the head of a stranger bobbing by every few minutes.

At the end of the show Lou Reed came on with a sleeveless denim jacket and played one noise rock song with no words.

Then I got a half vanilla/half chocolate soft serve cone and Tim got a cherry slushie and we went home to Brooklyn.


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Life’s a gas

fuel damp disengage the moon
brake clutch desert stone
crumble into the rumbling horizon
these skips of irreligious anticlimax
beat a reverence that survives as tears
a mistaken heart made game
in the lilt of positive swoon
the repetition of cards turning
cyclic gestures
as when a record skips
and no one is strong enough
to lift the needle.

lose touch.
hold on loosely sings 38 special
crave a blockade
to dam(n) the unswerving sieve,
the silken sewer suffused with
suffering succotash.
overcooked, unmediated memory.
drawing/shooting blanks
designate/assassinate forms.

hit return changed to enter
fast on feet, a mind that trips over cracks.
pick up your brain to save the tread
frozen radials
the helplessness, the late hour
a lost dog cuts across the square
and vanishes down the stairs.
I yawn again.
Even the pigeons are different here.

chateaubriand in cheyenne, wyoming

escalated fever cracks
drips a river
drops over a cliff
recovers a dinner of chateaubriand
in cheyenne, wyoming.
we will always remember
the windswept gristle between our teeth
as we bit into the point where the high plains
turn mountainous.
whatever teeth we lose along the way,
we can still smile at the thought of a steak dinner.

porcupine personal symbology stinks.
stick it to this and stick with that,
become unglued.

electronic mechanism causes bark
to fold back from the trees,
exposes flesh made pulp by rains.
shake the remote control away from the new-
fangled forest warden.
let the skin remain in place.

in my hands, the company letterhead
would turn into an inky stain.
smear it all illegible. I swear
I am ineligible.

scurry alone through painted alley
and blend with night's clean.
untreated windows gleam welcome,
the safe gates snuff and snub fear.
but there's no gate on my door.

break the barrier a hairsbreadth bristle,
watch the temperature drop thirty degrees.
awake sweat-swept and drop into the day,
a waterfall.