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

Lunch Walk

Less time than a prison yard

but more

to put under gaze.

We seek to be invisible,

dissipate

into the summer haze.

Work piles up

while we breath fresh air

for our only fun.

Let the scene to be seen

turn and blister

in the sun.

Wear eight hats

and pulled

every which way.

We let work eat up

too much of our day.

Someday

we’ll go on our lunch walk

to stay.   

Song of the Hooves

Soundly uplifting

to be the workhorse,

to charge unbroken,

scarred by thorny brush.

Make earthly tremors

a calling card.

Let armchair emperors

taste blood and dust.

Let very course

be a thunderous plain,

let every harness

lay broken beneath. 

Bounce University

an upward swing

from every down-pressed time

every fracture of spirit

every dying sign

basic joy of motion

as we laugh among the screams

primal, carnal joy commotion

powers scattered tribal dreams

jumping high

and shoeless

as if making pagan prayer

smiling and remorseless

as we immolate with flair

Bleary Epiphany

spy the clock to find

the hours burned by fast

distraction waves

abound

like knowing knaves

bringing head-slump slumber

at the desk

the quiet dark

is false calm

a rude pause

to the world’s rage

churning somewhere

always

but the blue night

filled with child of dawn

sparks the need

to fly awake

and burn brighter than magnesium sun

while the rest of the world

slumbers

Lightning Bolt

a pulse of power

forged from sky,

a black flame candle,

a rallying cry

the might,

the knowledge

amidst the dark;

the light reveals

and burns its mark

Subway Ballet

choreographed

without words

by shifting eyes

in transit trance

no relief

compete for seats

while the stoic critic

prefers to stand

a musical chairs

of quiet despair

revolves all around

better

to treat the seats

like Caesar’s crown

and thrice refuse

to sit down

Playground Sneak

the stealth Dad,

trespassing

for children’s play

one eye over shoulder,

a gentle touch at the gate

dusk

cuts into afternoon

shepherd the young onward

through drizzle

and the quizzing eyes

of legitimate residents

outlaw father

stepping softly

across alien space,

a small price to pay

and will gladly pay again

Cloud Language

spy the sultry dusk

billows,

an intimate ceiling

burning paths

for living dreams

thank with a knowing wink

that cloud cover,

letting us hunt

in that first light

without a burning glare

eyes wide to drink it in,

that beauty that makes us mad

and forever fleeting,

made with water in air

The Sunlight Iron Flash Muses

the heat of spring

brings the office people outside

brisk walk

to hide our wandering eyes

as the city aligns

to sight the sunning flesh

such fleeting seconds

stitch together the patch-quilt

of our day,

and fuel us

through carnal night

when our real work

is done

First Bite of Spring

The first bite of Spring

is the cool chill

that doesn’t sting,

is spying the last piece

of melting snow

with a smile and a wink.

The first bite of Spring

is to smell the coming bloom,

to see that slight blur

of color that promises

to unfurl.

To drink in the Spring

is to tread that dangerous place,

and yearn to soak it all in

before it burns our face.

Warrior at the Bulk Discount Club

some solitude

amid the bustling shoppers,

rain-spattered, unshaven,

somehow proud

cart-pusher

cubicle sharecropper

weaving past

old and young,

dodging evidence

of decline

to get the provisioning

done

focused

like a beast of prey,

bringing the kill home

to start the day

Rebellion of the Cluttered Mind Warp

submission grows slowly

without time to think

numbed with the circus

our gossip

and drink

rancid workthink

bleeds into leisure time

these precious hours

somehow no longer mine

and thus

the chase for daily bread

cascades the worry

in a dreamer’s head

but lo and behold

with such lust to lash out

and take hold of that lightening

to bring real life about

Kings at the Half King

surly adversaries

after hardly a pint

proud of our heady resolve

and might

making our plans

over soggy-soft coasters

the loud happy babble

of still-youthful boasters

let decades slip past

and revisit these scenes

as hardscrabble years

claim the hardest of dreams

true resolve doesn’t die

but grinds away

and lives on

as the quest will consume us

in our own haggard song