A Mistress

the humidity is the same as December’s in New York….air-conditioning in public libraries busted….large fans blowing and blowing and blowing…a hum through the air as Beckett reminds me of my childhood…my manhood….my life….

a constant search for voice.. in communities….countries….oneself….always crawling through the mud and briers…the sticky part…trying to go at it unabashed…reading for salvation..writing as a sacrifice….

to lay it all out in sentences with sweat being a key ingredient….to our honesty on the page…in our lives…when dealing with others…..do unto others….as you….that’s that….

the humidity is the same as December’s in this new York… this new paradise where feelings have been tossed around…. a toll on body ,soul…the grind must come to a screeching halt….all is diseased….

a witness to drug deals gone a foul…crack whores selling services to less savory suitors….and always money…money…money….the final cut…a dime owed is fought for with wisdom teeth being a promised prize…..

and away from here….to somewhere new…or old that is new….to old college greens and falls of leaves as girls in sweaters walk past carrying books by Fitzgerald….Williams’ poetry lingering on porch swings…..and beer cans tapped…

easy….just an easy life….maybe a film….an art gallery…a lecture on Ginsberg…or Dylan Thomas…..a Joni Mitchell album played on a Friday night….maybe a Tom Waits tune……I’m ready….

leave behind New York…just leave it and perhaps return again and again as I have always….or is this love affair finally over…..I don’t know…..I don’t know….I have no wife….only a mistress…..

 

 

 


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