(Taken from an unfinished manuscript of a new poetic prose collection I’m working on (out soon, end of this month or early October) called, Pickpocket of Reality)
(not) A Sheltered Life
Under the library in new york city
Waiting for the storm to last a while longer
Wanted to be there, not in times square again
We always walked in circles, always ended up
Somehow, back in times square, again.
Standing under the library after scoping the village
Searching for the ghosts of the beats
In bathrooms, old bars, drowning in the drinks,
melting within laughter, not finding nothing but ourselves, laughing at ourselves, dying within ourselves.
Standing together, millions of sheltered lives
Across the street was a perfect park,
drive by sketchy vans with tinted windows
Raining down, the day was done but not the night
Looking at perfect park, as rain rained, dreams drempt,
eyes blinked, waiting, green grass overflowing trees,
the greenest green ever seen I swear
Waiting because of the rain,
because you had to use the bathroom
Waiting, and you came back still having to use the bathroom
Because you were turned away from everywhere
because you didn’t have any cards to be here
So we laughed, watching traffic go by,
The best minds of our generation, unknown to them
Under the porch of the library concrete entrance,
huddled like a football team,
Making plans for the next moment,
waiting for the rain to stop, and believing in our youth
That was gone, a good laugh, all laughing, waiting,
sheltered by the library,
Rain coming down, it lasted as long as it needed to
And then it stopped, the rain let the sun in,
it happened so fast, just like everything …
Somehow …
we ended up back
where I said I didn’t want to end up, and it happened because I’m a tourist.
…
I always wanted to end up where I said I didn’t,
my logic is flawed, watered down
By too many drinks and too much dreaming,
too much scattered morning … yawning.
So, back in Times Square
Three in the morning, that’s where all the po-mo beats go,
Even the ghosts, and it’s a hellish trap but
All in good spirits that we seeped from the souls.
…
The night can be done whenever you want it to be
And sometimes you don’t want anything but to … be
Forgotten, a disgusting man with a good smile,
Sometimes, lost and found in times square,
Us, converted to some religion,
america infected your mind
Laughing, it’s what we do best,
back in times square,
Pitch black woods sparse highways in Michigan
high definition baptizing the tourist … here.
Like us, in times square, no longer closing time
…
The morning, looking like an infinite daytime with
people
People taking pictures
People taking pictures
People with tired smiles
Looking up
People boxed in, like a cat in a travel cage
Surrounded by walls and columns
high as outer space
People
People
People like us
people, laughing,
Lights advertising,
as many lights and screens as people.
…
More screens than people,
advertising what you should want
Want to be
Want to own
Want to want
A wall of want
A circus of consumerism
Strip clubs next to disney store
Soup kitchen next to the gap
Abc next to scientology for beginners
The fbi next to the russia today television studio
Everyone looking as vibrant
as the commercials they take pictures of
Lights looking up ….
… down
Purple green
White lights replaced … people,
now everything electricity becoming one
Red flashes and … eyes blink
It is the end of the night
And … we always end-up in times square
Like water returning to land
A full moon in michigan is a commercial in Manhattan
An amusement park for the perfect american you
Us
Your mind
Your body
Controlling the shape
Of the perfect song
These are the moments I misplaced, what was happening
Under the library looking at
The leaning bushes and trees
Waiting for my friends with the words
poets that nobody cares about
In the now I had dreams of something so simple as a single
Haiku.
Adventures In American Writing 