dmseay

saw her standing on a sidewalk by the bodega over on 1st Avenue…wasn’t waiting for the bus…nor anything in-particular…didn’t think…didn’t think…

first two buttons on her tight-fitting blouse were undone…a red top to match part of her hair…colors of red…purple…streaks of gray…swirling ’round on her head in a bouffant…looked like a calliope…she was laughing…

eyes were covered by sunglasses…big black dark sunglasses…what eyes were behind those…green…blue…hazel…that she would not reveal…

watched her undo another button…exposing a black laced bra covering tanning bed tanned breasts…small…delicate…she wanted to show all…

so…she took off the shirt…and unzipped her sage skirt…to reveal….to reveal…

her manhood….

saw you looking…

could tell…

up ta’ no good…

often…

seduced in times of loneliness…heart weak…soul sends out heat-seeking waves…

flying o’er Manhattan…Chicago…Philly…D.C. …Albuquerque…Saigon…SoHo…ga-zing at love…hoping…wishing for love…

at jazz joints played in b- flat…Irish pubs along 1st…Jew-town among Maxwell Polish’ an’ greasy bags o’ fries…blues bars where poor blacks wail while white kids nod their heads…

love come…

without malice…please…no tricks…where are you hiding…

1…2….3…

come-out…come- out…wherever you are…

here i come…

love…

come-out…

i hear you…

she used to yell ’bout my drinking…fast-paced simple sentences  rattled-off ’bout my drinking…

and money was spent on booze…bar-tabs carried over from month to month…countless calls for collateral…hawking watches…rings…albums…laptops…she would yell ’bout my drinking…

blame it on the moon…that hollow sphere we’ve all been intoxicated-by…question blury ghosts down the halls of old tennant buildings having called out my name….argue with the north star for leading me astray… i was never a wise-man…

she used to yell ’bout my drinking…talks of wasted life…accusations of induced poetry…outside influences damaging my soul…,write pure, she said,…write pure,….

she used to yell ’bout my drinking…

she used to yell ’bout my drinking…

shhhhh….

too loud…

shhhhh…

stop it already…

shhhhh…

O.K. …

and solace gives us what…

she used to yell ’bout my drinking…

midnight strolls…through the Bronx…hangin’ with homeboys at Hunts Point…throwin’ darts down on 1st…throwing-up yesterday’s meatloaf…sins were confessed…in the name of the Father…the Son…and the Holy Spook…

where’s my sword…oh…through me…through me…

she used…

she…
.

did she love you…

pick you up on drunken nights when to live anymore was too worry- some a thought…

did she love you…

shuffling down city streets in search of this bill to pay that bill replacing an old bill after those bills became a new bill…for one low cost payment…

did she love you…

in days pacing up-n-down corridors…halls at Bellevue…calls… visits…pizza brought in a box with green…white…an’ red lettering…

did she love you…

days roving ’round countrysides without a dime…sleeping under bridges…hidden behind humanity’s parade…in search of…what…

nothing…not a note…an overnight Western Union…greetings nor salutations…
did she love you…

and you toiled for what…

love…love…

did she love you…

mine neither….

bellies hurt…

starved…punched…kicked…externally…internally…lining only takes so much…the soul…the soul…

hunger makes it growl…

those on corners…in factories for meager pay…migrant work…nigger-work…those that want an’ll never get…never…

these bellies hurt…

alone in lines among hundreds at Apostle’s for bread to be broken… these things we give thanks…

it’s not a lack of food…nor drink making moans in Manhattan’s midst…
tis melancholy…belly blues from being batted ’round…never ‘nough sleep…never ‘nough money…never ‘nough…never ‘nough…

blacks…PR’s…white guys with stringy blonde locks…whores soaked from November’s rains…

beat-up busboys…beaten broads…guys who once had a shot…

junkies…drunks…hiphopheroes..homeboys from the Bronx…wandering Jews…rednecks an’ Rasputins…

nothing conjured…no-one let’s their guard down…
those bellies are hungry…

feed ’em…

she had this cat

El Gato…

he was my love…

many a night… purring put me to sleep…

curled-up beside me…whiskers tickling…tongue licking…sweet sounds…

El Gato…your flirtations…tricks…warmth…sincerities…deceptions….caused this pain…

for i went looking for love…this fool…you knew…you knew…

did she teach you these ways…

were talks had over tea…,watch what I make him do tonight…,.sugar placed into bitters…, he falls for that one everytime…

and now i wait in the cold…wanting you… wanting you…

is this ’bout a cat…

or..dreams dead in my arms long ago…

 

 

 

 

this cold..

so sudden…from thaw to freeze…

an’ where were you…

St. Thomas…St. Lucia…St. Swinger’s Secret Societies…

some boys named Pablo…experts in the field of fuck…God bless you all…

she has me.

this air breaths in anew…
waited so long…

new season…new season…

welcome cold…drafts through window seals…ice-picks pouring…never enough heat…

to winter…

may it’s wonderful misery smile on this son of York…

you don’t know who Madison Square Park is named after….

no…

really…really…

what’s the big fucking deal…

Madison Square Park…

what’s your problem man…

James Madison…ring a bell…you fuck…

whatever man…

yea…whatever…

so…Central Park is named after some guy named Central…

tis warm…

6 years…

warm…

have i looked for you…

have i looked…

have i…

Manhattan…

bodegas…Chinese groceries…Bronx…Brooklyn too…

behind buildings…bathrooms…bars…Greek diners at 3…

Bryant Park…Madison…Central…
Alphabet City was bare…

gazed in Montreal…

imitation…imitation…

fake French accents…

seedy secondry…wanting a flame…

a flicker…of your brilliance…

parked in lots under moon’s kiss…

never seen…Montpelier…New Haven…Philly’s arms did not embrace…a vagabond turned-away…

to midnight growls in streets of muck-n-mire…by painted ladies strolling past…and children selling candy on corners to drive-through buyers…slowing-down just enough…just enough…

ghosts…aberrations…dancing banshees…hauntings…clarity eluded…confusion tomorrow’s hangover…

not once of love’s lips was i kissed…not once…

till now…till now…

6 years in exile…

life abandoned…

and in this darkened hour…

down a hall…away from streetlight’s glow…

warmth does lay…warmth does lay…

…,honey…come back to bed,…

a minute… a minute love…

kk…

goodnight 6 years…

goodnight…

there was these bunched-up blinds raised ‘bove the windows in her kitchen…

pitch black ‘side…lights a distance away…cars passin’ on backroads…fall was ‘most gone…next year…next year…

Stephen King book lay on the table along with cleaning products…few lists…empty yogurt container…used spoon…

all these boxes….everywhere…boxes…marked Old Style…an’ Vizio…Chuckee Shaw…some items…toilet paper…mouthwash…scrubbing brush…

next day she left…gone…

just walked out the door…

not even a goodbye…

didn’t see it comin’….