dmseay

watching the good people of america in line at a coffee-shop…

they talk of business…night before…husbands and wives..a child’s first communion…

ordering espresso…cappuccinos…,I want something sweet…,this woman in a felt bonnet says…,can you make that sweet…,the barista nods his head…

and bearded ladies line-up at the counter…talking on cellphones about deals in China…Bangladesh…them Russians them Russians them bad Russians…negotiations in progress…

kids with skateboards sit outside on patio chairs…earplugs in…world tuned-out…deciding what gender to be for the day…for the hour…in the moment…

watching the good people of america in line at a coffee-shop…

just watching…just watching…

where’s mom…

she passed away pop…

oh…

yeah…last year…

well I’ll be damned….

she died last March…

was in an asylum wasn’t she…

no dad…a hospice…

didn’t go a little funny in the head…

a little pop…a little…

so…where’s mom…

she’s dead pop…died last year…

oh…so that’s why she doesn’t answer the phone…

where is my heart…
what happened to my soul…
left in a monastery over in the Bronx…
where i prayed and prayed and prayed…
for deliverance…
for deliverance…

lord deliver me from these streets…
where there is no dignity…
beggars beg…
junkies shoot…
spice is smoked…
rap is chanted…by mad-men…by mad-men…

lord deliver me from these streets…
this 40 oz. drank as communion…
your blood…
a loaf of white divided…
your body…
we partake of this…

lord deliver me from these streets…
bullies punch…
bag-men collect…
loans are not granted…
yet interest is always collected…
always…

lord deliver me from these streets…
give me solace…
silence…
a midnight’s peace…
dreams…i pray for dreams…
early morning Sun…

lord deliver me from these streets…
upon a hollow moon i cast an eye…
this cross ‘fore me i cannot bare…
theives and murderers…take them now…
into your arms…into your arms…
this i hope…

used to pray…
every night…
no-longer…
that need is gone…
i want it back…
need to go back…

where is my heart…
what happened to my soul…
left in a monastery over in the Bronx…
where i prayed and prayed and prayed…
for deliverance…
for deliverance…

tall grasses…
greens-n-golds…
white flowers sprinkled about…
soon they will be gone…

saw a dead leaf on a sidewalk yesterday…
thought of you…
autumn…of autumn…
November…sweet musty November…

Ferriswheels…
county fairs…
cider…
drunk love…

nights cool…
summer breeze gone…
hand-n-hand in Central Park…
November…sweet musty November…

tis fall’s magic…
yellows an’ reds…
yes…browns too…
for there is beauty in death…beauty…

tall grasses…
greens-n-golds…
white flowers sprinkled about…
soon they will be gone…

in this garden…
amongst poets an’ sculptors…
dancers…actors…
i slumber…

mixed-in with painters…publishers…
hibiscus blooms…
Campari cocktails…
i sleep…

naked bodies intertwined…
covered in dewy grass…
poems…poems…poems…
i dream…

and jazz plays throughout the night…
under a lit city sky…
drunk on the moon…
goodnight…my love…goodnight…

you know a city when you’re poor…
ins-n-outs…
where there is shelter from storms…
clothing for the naked…
food for the belly…

you know rooftops…
parking garages…
bathroom codes…
cheapest wine in town…
best park benches to sleep-on…

you know whose in charge…
every sidewalk crack…
abandoned house…
where to get a free cup of joe…
a doughnut or two…

you know the best corners…
rules of these streets…
never forgetting a thing…
always on the look-out…
whose pushin’ and whose buyin’…

you know junkies in Union Square…
bums in The Tenderloin…
which train goes where…
quickest route out of town…
jettison goods at a moment’s notice…

you know everything is temporary…
love is a loss…
life is a gamble…
Pancho Villa died for our sins…
you know the cost…

you know who came-up short…
you know plasma centers…
you know no-one gives a fuck…
you know time is up…
you know nothing…

and then what…
how do you…
can i make a suggestion…

no-time to dilly-dally…
this has to end…
can’t go-on like this…

shouldn’t we talk…
shouldn’t we listen…
to each other…

what…air differences…
talk of what…
seperate beds…

yes…
seperate beds…
when that started…

it had to…
wanted away from you…
far away…

you’ve been plotting…
i see now…
this is over…

when can you be gone…
soon…
can you be gone soon…

yes…
i’ll leave tomorrow…
tomorrow…

and now…
what do we do now…
what do you want…

a nap…
a long nap…
goodnight…

what are we talking about…
no emotional bonds…
just fucking…

yes…
that is what we are talking about…
two people fucking…

how do you do that…
there has to be feelings…
otherwise…what’s the point…

it’s a physical release…
it’s the need for sex…
it’s…it’s…it’s…

it’s cold…
un-romantic…
where’s the heart…gotta have some heart…

no…
no heart…
that’s when things get messy…

i see…
fears set-in…
what are we talking about…

two people fucking…
just fucking…
can you do that…

no…

stop…
please…
it hurts…

words going no-where…
giving-up nothing…
what is sacrificed…

you push and push and push…
expectations high…
wanting…

i cannot…
nothing is there…
a shaking hand will not write…

stop…
please…
it hurts…

paintings gazed-at…
trains wail…
eerie silence…

but still…
the soul is not stirred…
no magic…

gun-shots…
no voices…
i do not hear you anymore…

stop…
please…
it hurts…

weakness…
pictures…
there is no feeling…

try and try and try and try…
nothing flows…
un-natural…

the rhythm is off…
timing is wrong…
a clock shines in darkness…

stop…
please…
it hurts…

and here i sit…
with nothing to write…
while you slumber…

200 miles away…
haunting…
i don’t want this…

endless push…
an un-kind shove…
these prices we pay…

stop…
please…
it hurts…

Cervantes stares me in the eyes…
i am not Don Quixote…
no trusty right-hand man…
no windmills…

and there are foes outside…
battles to be won…
moving from town to town…
in search of Dulcinea…

looked on 7th Avenue in movie booths…
hands coming through holes…
voices promising pleasure…
t’was not my queen…not my queen…

walked down alleys where homeboys stood…
rapping on cellphones…
speaking in tongues…
for they had not seen…

slipped past Dominicans in Washington Heights…
had not heard a word…
streets offered nothing…
longed for love…

dreamt of Dulcinea…
need for her touch…
wanting of love…
come to me…come to me…

my fight is gone…
body is weak…
to feel my fairest once again…
this is what i long for…

Cervantes stares me in the eyes…
i am not Don Quixote…
no trusty right hand man…
no windmills…