War Letter from a Long Summer

the hard heat

adds to the thrill

of being alive

stalking scorched streets

with cold-minded eyes

hardened

in the kiln

of too many voices

being that exception,

that warrior poet

standing alone,

is enough

to make us smile

in the blaze

of the hateful sun

Invisible Flame of Misfit Workers

sublime

if we can creep

past the wear-down

rage

past thoughts

too hateful

to darken a page

past misery heedless

near needless

for pay

past the clock-worn

routines

we repeat every day

somewhere

some spark

flints away

in the dark

with plans

nearly hatched

for some progress

to mark

this waking dream

of guiding flame

powers us through

a poisoned mind frame

it is our own darkness

ourselves

that we fight

in the hellfire struggle

to create

our own light

Drummer in Madison Square Park

tapping

to an endless dialogue

to no one at all

spattered

with brilliant rolls

percussion concussion

to make the doldrums die

walking the park to mark

the tail end of summer

joy in the sunshine

as the city

hustles

one stolen afternoon

at a time