Lone Wolf in Manhattan

stop to realize

I have become

a walking relic,

a tie-wearing man

in an open-collar world

where eunuchs grow beards

and women lean in

when they should stand

where savages

are taken for scholars

and beauty and art

is measured in dollars

but I smile widely

as I spot the sharp eyes

of my growing tribe

recused

and refuse

to live a lie

Simmering Summer Song

baked in a flush rage

the bright heat

pounding fists

from above and below

blast-furnace breeze

finds us

even among the trees

shroud-hiding

in plain sight

a sun-glass spy

avoiding the light

a self-styled wolf

stalking prey

that always gets away

we know our roles

as sun-touched souls

holding the line

until North winds

have their time

August Night

the music played

a sweaty, drunken romp;

a random gathering

on forgotten benches

as cabs careened

up 6^th Avenue

kissing to the white noise

that was Friday night’s anarchy,

the Village sang for us

and sent us on our way