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She was Korean….a prisoner of sex….I pay them to leave…

Give good massagee, a thin lipped smile; payday requirements, a couple of bills thrown down…..,Oh…I give you good….good massagee..

An Oriental version of What A Feeling played through bamboo curtains…..remember Flashdance….a belt was loosened….dirty underwear hidden….this is a filthy business…

You ready….you want good masagee?….Yes, smiled back at her, a tight dress dropped to the floor, okay….lay down….I start now… ready?….

And then it was done….no kisses…no embrace… as bareboned as you can get…..

Reminded me of marriage…..

 

 

 

 

 

The bean counter bought coffee..  talked of life’s disappointments….a   son of the new Millennium….

I don’t like the girl, the jew said, she’s fat….unattractive, it was pointed out that Harvey was no matinee idol….

She weighs 300 pounds….he could do better….it’s money….he loves her money, he stretched and sipped; gave his wrinkled face a shake, I tell you….he could do better…

Harvey…..we all could….so be it. What do you want?

We gave him everything, his dark hands trembled….and this is what we get….Moby Dick for a daughter in law….

You’re never happy Harvey…..never fucking happy….get over it…..

33rd and Fashion….peering down on people…looking up at commerce….Uncle Cracker croons a pop love potion while a shouting between two brothers begins, “Yo you see me in line nigga? you see me here?”……Black-hawk down….Black-hawk down….I repeat….Black-hawk down…

Brown shit sprayed upon a men’s room toilet…where junk was kicked…K2 was lit…..and a midnight date with Wild Irish Rose ended in a deep locked kiss……No protection used……

A Polish broad….pajama topped and tattooed neck…. holds onto a little girl so close….so very close…mouth moving to music…..”Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in”..can’t blame you at all sister…..

Here….seated…talking away at imaginary friends….long gone loves…..strangers uttering Spanish….German…..Pig Latin….. The floor is mopped…trash discarded… Yet…nothing is cleansed.

See ya tomorrow…..

It is listening to the Bill Evans trio play Gloria’s Step for the first time….And then every time after….. it’s just as fresh…..

Watching kids laugh in Central Park…Held by grandparents…placed on shoulders….

Walking past panhandlers and donating a buck or two…..a chat with a bag lady…..PLEASE HELP A VET……maybe he’s lying..what’s the difference…throw a bill….

It is listening to John Coltrane play Central Park West for the first time….And then every time after….it’s just as fresh…..

Halal lamb over rice for $5……a great yogurt sauce…..a slice of grilled pita…..and a can of soda while standing on a hosed down sidewalk…..some smells never leave….

A movie at The Mid-Town library on a Sunday afternoon…a Friday night at MoMA….the number 4 at 2nd Avenue Deli…..a cool waitress at The White Horse Tavern….talkin’ to a retired fireman who just lit a candle for his wife…..

It is listening to Miles Davis play So What…….Yes…..It is listening to Miles Davis play…… So What…….

 

 

Surrounded by crazies….. cons……criminals….Looking for angles…..same road…different routes….who will get there first?…..

RAP sheet says this….RAP sheet says that….converting prison life to the shelters….the drop-in centers…soup kitchens….get in line…wait your turn….don’t ask me again….

The pecking order is long…. power struggles…..prosthetic intelligence….mouths a-poppin’ all night long….Academia need not apply….

Not Beckett…..nor Joyce…or Bach…loud…bombastically blaring BET rings off walls….stacking metal folding chairs….slept-on in seven different positions…..a blinking eye never closes….

It’s the system man…..the system…..Yeah I shot that motherfucker….and I robbed a liquor store…and I beat that hoe you knows…but see I’m the victim here….Aint nobody done broken these chains….My chains aint been broken…..

Get a-hold of The Jaws of Life…….break ’em yourself…..

So cold and miserable outside….indoors….no better…

Across the room she sits in-waiting….

For what?…..

If only i knew…..

Central Park West was danced to……playfulness…..pecks on cheeks….To those that have never loved…..perhaps you are blessed…..

No more music…..dancing is done…..not a single kiss…not a taste in years…..

She takes walks alone……why?…..

If only i knew….

A split…..a disconnect….nothing in common any longer…..cable news….People Magazine…rolled-over….back to back…..a chasm never to be filled……

This isn’t fun anymore…….What do we do now?……She said……

If only i knew…..

Don’t rely on your parents….nor the next generation to pull you through these times…….Don’t rely on churches….food pantries…..public bathrooms….dollar menus…..latex rubbers….. kitchens of distinction…..

Don’t rely on ex-wives……ex-lovers…..ex-in-laws…..Exxon……Don’t rely on subway trains to get you from point a to point b…..taxi cabs to take the quickest route….Uber apps……Google maps……Backpage ads that promise this and deliver that……teenage boys standing dangerously too close….. guys name Sal with a real estate deal just for you…..

Don’t rely on friends…former friends…..future friends….any friends…….not even friendly types….Don’t rely on America……America’s enemies…..America’s allies….insurance companies…..public assistance….or the publicly condemned public that condemned the condemned……Don’t rely on salt substitutes….

And…..do not rely on me………………..

Whitman’s Manhatta…..gone….gone….gone…

Langston’s Harlem is now a playground….A renaissance? a rebirth?  of what? gone…gone….gone….

Patti Smith’s Manhatta….Jim Carroll’s Manhatta….Happenings….. St. Mark’s……gone….gone….gone…

The Beats….Ginsberg’s howling….Kerouac’s dreams of Buddha and Bennies in Washington Square while rattling off Haiku’s as girls stroll by……gone…gone….gone

Seventy-five dollar a week rooms with dead rat essence in Chelsea…..gone…gone…gone….

Porn in Times Square….Buddy booths…..hour hotels……dirt….grime….Here’s to crime……Manhatta is gone….gone….gone……

And……so am I.

 

A candle was lit at St. Xavier’s… she was dying…why not? sleep…..slumber…. never wake-up….wrapped in the arms of Jesus…..the only long-haired she ever loved….

Nothing is felt……no suffering…..no crying…..no remorse….nor guilt….. years wasted…done and finished like cornbread in a cast-iron-skillet caked in bacon-drippings…..she could cook…..

A Southern tale as twisted as a Faulkner novel…..family favorites…..sexual taboos…….Always coveting and coveting and coveting……wishing for more and more and more……a constant filled plate…..  sins cast long ago…..

Always hiding……immoral acts behind wood panel doors…….fried pies in dresser drawers……dollars stowed away in jewelry boxes……a life of hide and go seek……And nothing was ever found…..

Nothing is felt…..no suffering…..no crying…..no remorse…..nor guilt….years wasted……done and finished like cornbread in a cast-iron-skillet caked in bacon drippings…..she could cook……

 

Morning and Madison Square Park is at peace…..

Air is new….without fault….giving life to quick stepped dogs…..a couple caught kissing…paper readers…garbage pickers…and a green at rest…..

Morning and Madison Square Park is at peace…..

Comforting…refreshing…while smells of soured booze….misplaced dreams….crack bruised lips lie in City shelters….drop-in centers…..and 10 by 10 rooms…..

Morning and Madison Square Park is at peace……

Junkies and juvenile delinquents….whored-out hustlers from The Port Authority potluck, Put on these panties…..Do your stuff and don’t get cute, John’s hushed request…..a $20 marks the spot…..

Morning and Madison Square Park is at peace……..

Brunches across town…..Eastside…….Westside……farm to table…..organically fed….fuck me….fuck you……she wants her ring back…..What’d I…..what’d I….what’d I do to deserve this?…….

Morning and Madison Square Park is at peace……..

And Chester Arthur looks down on all………………