Poetry Corner Friday: My past, my future
Right now
I walk silently like a swan
through streets that are only mine
Posts Tagged ‘walking’
On hurricanes and alcohol
I walked back to the house, somehow confident that the deluge would not catch up with me on the way home. I was right; it didn’t. In fact, it still hasn’t. The temperature has gotten a little cooler and a little more breezy, but it’s still pleasant enough outside to stroll through. In fact, I kind of want to do that now. To go for a stroll.
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Poetry Corner Friday: I think of you when I am drunk
…Your face flickers
before my increasingly blurry vision.
I want you…
On the advent of spring
In Times Square, an M&M was playing tag with a small child. I shit you not. “Tag! You’re it!” said the child and took off running down Broadway with a big foamy yellow M&M chasing after him.
...read more herePoetry Corner Friday: a good day for…
Where am I walking to after all?
Uptown or downtown
or crosstown
or slantways
Brooklyn loops on the Bronx eventually
doesn’t it?
On idyllic autumn nights in Harlem
He walked in with his trumpet in his hand and set his fedora down on my table when he saw me. I immediately picked it up and started twirling it in my hands.
I can’t remember the boy’s name, actually. When I see him, I call him Trumpet.
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On why I walked out
In retrospect, I think that’s what was playing in his mind while his passive-aggressive sulking about his worthless house guest was coming out of his mouth. Mind, this particular worthless house guest was just wagging her perfect booty before his conspicuously undeserving eyes, and had just an hour or so prior cooked without having been asked…
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On sacred ground
I think I didn’t want to see him. I think if I knew he was coming I might not have gone. And that would have been a shame because it was a great fucking jam session. Better than last time. Much better.
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On summer colds
when I started this blog I had just moved to canarsie to get the hell away from him. My reasons for liking him had dried up and were replaced by reasons for hating him. No, I’m not that fickle; he is. He had stopped being himself. And now he’s taking care of me while I’m sick.
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