Far Brooklyn moon,
couched in all our dirt,
tell it again
how there never was
any path for me to lose. pursuing friends--
a banana peel swaddling
the sidewalk tree April showers--
a fjord of rain water
guts the subway track One by one,
I dismantle those
I've yet to even touch.
Always again
these prayer beads grow loose. day moon--
jazz drum from
the academy window late evening train--
a theatre student
explaining herself
Dismiss always
the need for anyone;
until then
at the city rim
lights pushing lights. scything away
from light polution--
the rising half of moon morning after rain--
a capsized june bug
in the flower box
Shamed by distance,
I but drift about you always
from all sides;
a Pyrrhic victory: to assign time
for beautiful things. summer roof meditation--
a beer can trolling
in the darkness shaky subway car--
everyone nodding
to my headphones A phoenix bird for each of us
these two falling stars,
boring holes
through New York night
and the coming unknown. warmest evening wind--
a slow murmur populates
my earbuds nowhere burning
a retna stain--
the moon chopped in two
Our electric storm,
a lightning rose sprayed
from empty sky;
on the hindest plane
there's no need to run. city bus prophesy--
"wait for light
then open door" greasy business--
a majong match
in the auto yard Suppose it's alright
to be more than okay;
far off,
six fingers of sun fishing
through nimbus cloud. evening train--
the silver hand rail enters
her silver balloon summer's end--
rooftop pipe steam
given to the wind
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