the thing
with
writing
is
everybody does it

it is going to be awhile

it’s the last
for
those who
do not
want to be connected

it’s a book being
written
about us

being written about
you

just another
day
in clearwater

so close

make time
go
play in the sand

nearly woke up
made it
thru
the day anyway

fit to be
drawn
shoes
on a stick
figure

stuck
in earth’s
orbit

surrender to the
moonlight wait for
the taxi
home

tears by the dozen
someone
is counting
backwards

a refill
the empty glass
filled with trouble

deep breathing in
a coma
shades and textures
tactile indifference

believe you said
in what i wonder
shifts the shape
poverty in 3
dimensions

takes a train
sits in back
plays the harmonica

you never really got
paid

move there
and you will
never
have to take
another
vacation

hums like
a small engine
the sound of music
only you can
make

now it echoes
moves from
room to room
skips a couple
you need to
come back
and re-appear

maybe everywhere
touching you
then it breaks

turn it off
shut it down
rest in peace
remember

the day you came here
and the day you left

the peppermint tea
you left
is so good
add some honey
hot water
and sip

until
get use to
not
seeing you
in the morning
afternoon
and night

loving someone who
does not
fit
the norm

if you whisper
i will hear

brooklyn
near manhattan
not far
from the bronx

once
went atop
the world trade
center

saw wall street
a hot dog vendor
a pretzel saleswoman

yonkers and staten
island

beautiful new jersey

the sunset over
union city

took a tunnel
went
under the hudson
then north
to the cloisters

if you whisper
i will listen