10/27/10, 3rd Ave. @ 91st St.

A real-estate brochure box melted by fire:
a subtle statement.

The Leg

This left leg—
ankle, misshapen
from injury at 14,
and likewise its
length— almost
an inch shorter, with
blue veins to mark
time spent upright,
walks taken,
work done,
is not beautiful.
It doesn't
spring proudly
from Summer shorts-
tanned, muscular & long,
nor is it
fashionable,
tapering neatly in
tight black jeans to
shapely foot below,
but it’s a sincere leg,
does as it should
and only complains
occasionally.

10/22/10, Cornelia St.

On an Autumn city sidewalk,
I saw Don Quixote,
sweeping leaves.

Fiction

A great romance was born
as she boarded his bus;
a book by Douglas Adams
held her attention,
and she-- she held his.
She was 39.
He was a contractor.
She wanted 3 children.
He was from Maine.
She was a quarter Japanese.
He was a vegetarian.
She’d voted libertarian,
but together, they'd move
___past that.

A great romance was born
as she boarded his bus,
and died
as she left,
never really having noticed
he'd been sitting
there at all.

The Frustration of 2nd Ave

Stuttering streets reach out for something permanent
But city dogs and sweepers know there’s no such thing
And even sidewalk tree roots only grow eight inches deep.

10/20/10 E 88th St

behind the clouds,

the moon: a pearl half drowned

in nacreous whey.

10/20/10 3rd Ave @ E88th

On busy sidewalk,
an obstructive debate regarding
good manners.

10/20/10 M101

On rush hour bus
standing nanny sweeps hair
from seated girl’s eyes.

10/19/10, E88th St. btwn. 2nd and 1st

Churchyard pigeons peck at seeds of summer’s end
amidst the browning grass.

10/17/10

weekenders leave
shedding angry city skins
for a minute.

Brumberg

"Fiscally Conservative, Socially Liberal":
poli-sci-fi?

10/16/10, 1st Ave. @ 80th St. 10:47 P.M.

In winter coat on folding chair,
the fruit vender counts the day's harvest.

10/16/10, 1st Ave 10:54 P.M.

Smoke thirsty drinkers spill
out onto sidewalks;
teetering touseled
girls in stilettos in
from the suburbs, stinking
of schnapps, and
boys in status
conscious jeans
and experimental facial hair
boasting “beer expertise”,
and burgeoning bravados
all slaking other thirsts.

10/16/10 79th St. Diner

There are plants behind the
cashier's head; do they grow from
her subconcious?

10/16/10, 1st Ave @ 77th St.

the bodega cat and I greet
each other with mutual respect;
he does not rub up against my leg
and I, much as I want to,
do not bend to stroke
his silken back.

10/16/10 Walking 1st Ave., 88th St.-80th. St.

In Yorkville, the bars open early on Saturdays,
beckoning dark wombs in stasis call to
those who'd forget the life of day:
old men, and young-- mostly Irish,
in their workweek work clothes, still
dusty with the dust of the 2nd Avenue subway dig
(the "Sand Hogs", they call themselves),

and tonight, like every weekend night
the bars will shake off their dust
the staffs will rub Minwax into smooth worn wood
the girls will come in their leggings, & tube-
tops, and the frat boys in their button-
down untucked shirts will
play beer pong in the corner.

This Is Not A Dirty Poem

Cunt
is such
a lovely word,
as
is
cock;
direct,
unabashed,
unashamed
of what they are--
they simply are
as they are
and need
no explanation,
make no
embarrassed
apologies.
could it be,
that we—
consumed
as we are,
with
products
and
packaging,
incomes
and
addresses
-effemera
come as
integral
as
underwear-
are so
easily
shocked
because
such
simple
pure
honesty,
is so far
from
who
we’ve
created
ourselves
to
be?

Entropy

“Quick! Run! The beach!”
they call you from the shore;
instead, you deep kiss the waves.

10/15/10 Morning Coffee Walk, 88th @ 3rd

Chinese boy
yellow raincoat in cobblestone park
laughs at frantic dog

10/14/10, 2nd Ave. @ 12th St., Outside a Korean Nail Salon

3 skins scuff
down 2nd Ave.,
steel toed
boots sweep
broken window
strewn sidewalk.
One--
thumbs hooked
in red suspenders,
says
“this wouldn’t
happen if
you were
white”.

10/12/10 B'way @ W 78th

_____“SHALOM.
___HUNGRY JEW.”

read his cardboard sign. It
wasn’t Yom Kippur.

10/14/10

You realize as the door swings shut
behind you
you’ve left your pain.

Black Bread

black bread
cooling on the
rack
hard crust
yields slightly
under pressing
finger tips

placed in a brown
paper bag, I’ll
never know
the pleasure:
sliced thick,

hot from morning toaster &

awash in butter, or
dipped
into wintery soup
polishing even the last
from the sides of
the bowl.

10/13/10

across the yard
an apartment is gutted;
Shop-Vacs swallow a life.

Unseasonable Summer City Sonata

taxi meters chattering
excitedly at journey’s end
boasting


monotonous air conditioners wail
arias into the night


morning newspapers—
long discarded, dance
around subway entrances


by open window,
gray haired woman stares out at the street
waiting