Ants moving
grains of sand,
massive flipped and quarried
by powerful mandibles.
Genetics and mores
of the colony require
structures of a constant style,
a sloping mound,
instinctive, customary.
Yet there may be a few
renegade sisters
crawling dark tunnels
on three pairs of legs
inspired by visions
of architectural wonders,
statues and castles,
towers and arches,
all made of sand and saliva
in the future city
of the ants.
15th
Street Transit Station
under city
hall
you watch on the platform
as beauty descends the staircase,
beings so alluring
it causes pain
to look upon them.
you turn away,
look down at the tracks,
watch mice and rats,
vermin running
in between rails,
and shift your focus
to the tunnel
and the search for lights
while you stand
somewhere between
heaven and hell
debating the short distance
you have to travel.
Death
to Expectations
I saw
greatness from afar
And ran it over with my car.
Squashed and broken
I watched fame die
In the street where I should lie.
Fetch some water. Grab a sponge.
Wash the asphalt innocent.
the
company of writers
some sit
erect
as they sip coffee,
or whiskey,
others slouch
their heads almost hitting
the table.
some throw out their chests
and brag of their amazing
skills
and accomplishments,
the others listen and nod
secretly weighing their own work
against the loud mouth,
usually finding
lesser merit and false success
in the canon of their fellow
there are some
who do not need to speak,
their mere presence
stirs passions,
rivalries, curses, adulation.
writers know what this one
or that has done
even if no bookstores
carry his or her tomes.
and there are the rest,
who do not know
what to say,
whether to speak
or stay silent,
stumble over
every introduction
and forever are
unsure.
close associates
may pat their back
or stab them in it,
and those whose praise
would mean the most
keep their own counsel.
these assemblies
do not last long.
so many egos in the room
threaten the stability
of the rafters.
before things erupt
into fist fights
or mad tears,
the writers depart.
some drift off in knots
to another bar
or espresso joint
while others wander
the streets
honest in the solitude
the others pretend
for the moment
is not there.
Levitation
You float
up, lifted on high
By feelings you don’t understand,
And then you are dropped,
Hurled down, splattered
On the stones below.
This is the life we are given,
These ups and downs,
Walking on air and hitting bottom,
But, in between, we still fly,
Or so it seems, trying
To remain optimistic,
Not to look at the ground,
See how close it is,
Whisper to ourselves
In an effort to trick the mind
Or convince the heart,
“So far so good. So far so good.”
Big
Freeze
how cold
is the ice
upon which we sit,
frozen not in time,
but only in life.
how bitter weighs
the silence
in the icicle air
where once was fire.
On the
sidelines
the
dinosaurs are waiting
for us to join them
on the sidelines of history.
it is getting near the time
when we must step off the stage;
turn the world over
to insects and squirrels
and mad New York parrots
living in the trees of Central Park.
no more
no meat
today.
no meat any day.
enough bodies
on the strand.
let them lay there,
alone, uneaten.
