dmseay

Backflips….cartwheels turned over and over….tag….leap-frog….smear the queer….the finest in Americana …..some things never change….

White girls racing each other to a never ending finish-line…..Mexicans…..some Jewish kids too….getting tangled-up in soccer-nets….always climbing….never getting anywhere….

Hoops are shot by black boys in sneakers of red…..gold…..green….and canvas….old Chuck Taylor’s…..remember when….remember when….

Lots of laughing….some zeroing in on a kiss…..hold-off….don’t rush the inevitable….

Teachers trying to control the masses to no avail….and tomorrow they’ll try again….and the next day….and the next day….and the next day…..

I miss being a kid….I miss being human….Time for a backflip….

This Manhattan….with slices of pizza strewn ‘cross concrete….urine….and leftover chowder hosed-off in early sunlight  as Pilates partners dance to the same beat: commerce…commerce..commerce. …

And perfection strolls with hairs inplace….Never too early for a deal in Beijing….

NYC websites for craft beers…the latest homegrown hash….grass-fed and funneled to a table in Midtown….Chelsea…Upper Westside….what used to be of The Village….A healthier New York is a better New York…..

Codes on bathroom doors….constant corrected language….online romances….and radical rebellion proclaimed in the name of political correctness….Apologies accepted…

This Manhattan….this Manhattan….I’ll take Manhattan….

No….I’ll settle for Queens…..

Frail fingers rummaging through sugar packets….junkies….dope fiends…..a constant hunt for sugar….Brazilian gold…damn the dentists….

And they sit with signs of need in Union Square….Penn Station….all over Manhattan….shattered….shattered…ooh sharoooby…..this town’s shattered…..

A numbness….a dumbness….an epic story of nothingness…The young look old…. the old look dead…and those whose souls lie still….days numbered….From womb to tomb….they never had a chance….

Frail fingers rummaging through sugar packets…..It’s America….we’ll make more…

I stand at the stations of the cross each day….praying for past and present sins….always wanting forgiveness…..And I am far from clean….

Standing alone in porno booths with boys in wigs offering services for a dime…And I am far from clean….

Junkies….crackheads….meth- maniacs…drunks who’ll never hit bottom….judged as they sling from one end of Union Square to the other…..And I am far from clean….

Money walks past with suits and silver….gold and guilders…..thoughts of want….you will be given what you need…. And I am far from clean….

Men cheating on wives with Babylonian whores….On top of parking lots….in backs of cars….Lexington Avenue Hotel rooms…41st Street spas….And I am far from clean….

Eating at troughs….endless buffets…an exercise in gluttony for stomachs always full….And I am far from clean…

I stand at the stations of the cross each day…..praying for past and present sins…always wanting forgiveness…..And I am far from clean….

Seven guys in a Synagogue basement….fold-out beds….sheets and blankets….beef hotdogs….and other kosher delights….the goyem dug-in….

Man….it smells down here, a brother said to his fellow brethren, Them hotdogs be smellin’ up dis place everynight, men made their beds; kept-on keepin’ on…

Get my own place I ain’t gonna be stinkin’ it up wit no microwaved kosher hotdogs and shit…..keep my place clean….

The split-opened over-cooked Franks were taken out of the modern machine, Look at dat shit….fuckin’ smell like a body rotten up in The Bronx, the dogs were discarded, a cheap cologne was sprayed…..and sprayed….and sprayed again

Dis be our home ‘ til we get a home……we’s need to be keepin’ it right and shit….

Lights were turned-off….bodies rolled-over….and only bad dialogue from a TV show turned low was heard in the dark….

Goodnight..

She was a wreck….a Puerto Rican nightmare with heavy sweats and a rapidly beating heart…..the kind of night-terror that keeps you awake for hours……God help us all….

That voice, Pappi…..Pappi….you go get my cigarettes Pappi, She kept screaming and screaming…..pleading and pleading to a man who’d heard enough……gave-up years ago…..saw the defeat comin’ and has been clinging to the lost cause ever since…..

Pappi….Pappi….here, a bill was flit, Now go….go….go Pappi, a fling of purple dyed hair swung ’round….casting out angles… calling on devils….

Lips were licked with a turn to the next guy, Where were we Pappi?

Her errand-boy never returned…..some say he’s at a sober house in Jersey……Some say they saw him off of Florida….My mother said she saw ‘ him in Chinatown…..but….you can’t always trust your mother….

And the PR broad still wheels and deals from one drop-in center to the next…..Lookin’ for another mutt to fetch….good luck mommy…..good luck…..

Hey Pappi….you gotta lite?……

Thanks to Lou Reed for the Florida and the Chinatown line. (American Whale, New York album).

Standing dangerously close to the yellow line….Do Not Cross….A Number 6 Is Now Approaching…..Stand Clear Of The Doors Please…..

Thoughts drift to a date with number 6.. ..To kiss the front glass….. slide down to the rusted tracks…to lie flat as paper drawn-upon….. Nothing’s ever that neat….

It’s not a Warner Bros. cartoon….How many times did Wiley Coyote die?….or, Yosemite Sam for that matter…..Never a cut…nor a drop of blood….just an on-going resurrection… time after time after time…..only to sin again

I stand by the yellow line…..waiting just waiting ……

Maybe today’s not your day…

It is not Holden Caufield….nor Jim Carroll’s antics in Manhattan streets that I seek

It is not Mailer’s American Dream…..or Miller’s dancing through Brooklyn’s banality…. brothels….burlesque….I want……Keep dancing Henry….keep dancing…..

No…for it is Max….my hero Max….who now sits at The Royal Rumpus….Who knows love….who knows joy….and has suffered as well….

Next month I shall escape Manhattan and journey into the wild to find my own Royal Rumpus…Amongst the wild….the loving….

I shall……I shall…..

Television turned-up… loud….loud….loud….Drunks…. junkies…. K2 casualties snore with heads upon folded arms…..ankles swollen…the norm does not fit….

Soon the machismo and bravado will begin, Man fuck you man….You better be showin’ some respect motherfucker, and so-on…..and so-on…..and so-on….

Blowin’ in the bathrooms…..hand jobs under stairwells…..a fuck for the right price….It’s still dark-out….No-one can see….drop ’em baby…

And some begin by being industrious with hand-made signs asking for donations….Give to a Homeless Vet…..a homeless Pregnant woman….a homeless 21 year old born on this day whose lost everything…..including an ID saying I’m 21 today……

The art of the hustle begins again..  all has been seen before… Sincerity is seldom seen….

Of course not….it’s America….

America is alive and well….hoodwinking all…..the thugs…the down-n-outs…the pushers…the users…the abusers…the 3 in the morning get in line day laborer….

Trump must be smart….he’s rich….dreams of turning their fortunes inside/out….Dreams…..dreams…..dreams…brother give me another toke …..

Wealth within reach, that’s always the thought…..reach-out and grab it….steal it…borrow it…..Don’t ever give it back……The never ending anthem…..Mees  and Mine…..

America is alive and well….yet, no folding chairs at the tables are left…..Cop a squat….