dmseay

We got along fine…’spose…
Craters along the way….
Didn’t fall in…too often….

Games played…
Various entertainments…
Don’t know….

A look over the shoulders….
Who trusts who…..
Wanna drink….?

We all got along fine ‘spose….
Craters along the way…..
Didn’t fall in…too often….

Bothered?….

No….not at all…

Good….that’s good….

Look….look at what happened… the Romans….

What..

Got cocky…just straight out cocky….fucked with the son of god…..

You can only hold onto something for so long….

Right….so…in America….where milk is fed to babies…and Polio’s gone….

Your point….

Pass the salt….
And wars go-on as wars always will…a black kid can sit next to a white….water fountains…the whole shot….

Your point….

Things aren’t so bad….the pepper….Pass the pepper…
No….’could be worse….

hard ta’ say….
over time….what would happen…
a lie….a tale….perhaps untruths….
who knows…

everyday somethin’ unexpected… constant state of emergency….
lives lost…friendships forsaken….
families in disarray…..

don’t count on anyone……
not a soul….he told me
do i need to explain….

head nodded…message sent….
blade bloody….time wasted…
lunch hour over….

go….don’t come back…just go…
time will pass….

The table was set ahead of time while potatoes in onions and red chillies danced on butter with jalapeños…..garlic sashayed…

Eggs whipped….percolating  coffee……a jam session in high order with rim shots and toast shakin’ ’em down….Yes…yes…yes….Amen….

A flute of Champagne poured… candle lit….creation dolloped with sour cream….Cilantro….what the hell….

Alone….eating alone…..

It never felt like this before….

Lay and breath….”So What” streams through headphones in a darkened room….Miles never sounded so sweet….

Forgetting all….abandoned …. abandoning…..leaving behind crimes comitted against….and towards…..always the ying and the yang….all are guilty of some sin…..

Tired of hurling stones…throwing boulders….too heavy….and for what….a fool’s solace….

NOT NEEDED…..

This tranquil night….with day’s fight done…listening to air through brass….notes richly hit….and softness is on the way….

Thank you……

To sit at the counter…slurping thin chilli from a tablespoon while waitresses waltz by in tight whites and Mexicans in hairnets take orders as Mexicans do….why…..’Cause they have to….

There are dishes to wash…tables to wipe…floors to mop…and fries to fry, I need a number 7 Jose, screams an eye-lined redhead, And make ’em crisp…..you know…..

No longer white man’s work….too much…too hard….Miliniels too soft…a migrant’s pilgrimage…from Oaxaca…to Chicago…
to Cleveland …..to New York…ship ’em out….we’ll make more…

And potatoes peeled pile-up….cans o paste poured….tomatoes stewed….

Now sits a bowl of thin chilli…slurped with a silver tablespoon….

Make ’em crisp, is told again, Make ’em crisp….

Dearest god…father…….mother of all…to all…in all…because of all….made man….man made…a deity to believe in…never in question….always questioned…as I do now…..

A blonde haired blue eyed jew….turned over an empire….sure he wasn’t black…or of olive skin….lineage of David…of Soloman….songs….fables…moral tales to tell again and again and again….

Nothing of Vishnu…Mohammed….Buddha….a theocracy….of democracy…..on whose behalf?….George….Benjamin….presidents and pawns….presidents and pawns…that’s who’s prayed to….not Vishnu…nor Mohammed….or Buddha….

“God does not want you to suffer,” quips the television whore in the name of Jesus….Is he reading the same book….

Dearest god…Father….Mother….I plead the fifth…..now….render your sentence….

Didn’t know you…never thought I did….just meandered through mazes…. puzzles…..was love nearby…..

There was Paris…Quebec….New York…..never on spot….always different venues…..You walked-out on Rickie Lee Jones…..

Such anger at the end…..over …The cursing…. swearing… vengence….lies…..for what….

Just ’cause we could…..just ’cause we could….

It was spite….was anger… ego…..was pomp…. circumstance…..

’twas nothing…..only a dream….

All is not given-up…there is jazz….the beats…..Baldwin….and a cat named Carroll……

Books are gathered like groceries….plenty of proteins…vegetables….an ocassional sweet or two….Ginsberg for desert; he’d have liked that..

And…the Book of Blues lay on a table….a reach away…San Francisco Blues….MacDougal Street Blues….Kerouac sings and I listen….who could not…..

It’s a Saturday…..it’s a Saturday….maybe calm will prevail…over loud car stereos….mufflers ajar….motherfucker this and fuck you that on my street corner….a stained shirt…..

Bronx Blues….Bronx Blues….no need for rhyming schemes….the colors apply themselves….all you gotta do….is look….

American flags stuck in a lamppost as the eagle glares at mountains and hills of steel with concrete valleys below…..mocking it….teasing it….

Statues of men forgotten….thousands squimmer….simmer…talking non-stop on cellular devices….wanting to close that last deal……move swiftly…..move swiftly….

Selfies shot by Japanese tourists and Italians and French and Russians and Finnish and Danes and Germans and Australians and Arkansans…..maybe not Arkansans….

What is the draw to this place?….this Grand Central Station….this Pershing Square…..

It is commerce….it is art….it is ingenuity….it is marketing….branding….a little of the old with buoyant youth showing skin and smarts and tech saavy…..

It is Manhattan…..

It is Manhattan glaring at all who face it; salesmen, traders, lawyers, judges, beatbox boyfriends, homeless vets, crackheads, junkies, Marines in uniform, cops with chops, armed psychopaths, and drug sniffing dogs……

It is Manhattan…..it is……

Those who own….and those without a dime to scratch off a lottery ticket…..

Money coming and going….exchanging hands of hotdog vendors, cashew roasters, baristas, K2 dealers, pawnshop hustlers, men passing bills through peep-show holes, backpage ads at 3 in the morning, I’m Uptown baby…..two-fitty roses is what I require…..

It is high stakes….nothing to lose….never had it to begin with and never will…..

This is Manhattan…..No…..This is America…..sweet land of liberty….of thee I sing…..of thee I sing….