Madison & Vine

the literary life

is cast in bronze

on the sidewalks

of our great city

for the dead

the living sweat it out

feet to the pavement

scrapping day by day

with albatross dreams

and stolen lunches

then stumble

on the crutches

of park strolls

breathing in

life’s poetry

before spilling it

imperfectly (always)

back on the pilfered page

Night at the Carnival

shoveling fried food

into my mouth

while surveying

the passers by

 —a young parade

of summer delight

to test the men

of Friday night—

but such is this disguise,

ourselves unwell

but artfully wise

and somewhere

dark beneath

a silent warrior’s

sword unsheathed

showing no mercy

the verse unleashed