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The call was made to the Midwest…watching troops of spectators wander through ticket hawkers….scalpers….billboards..lit-up signs blinking and calling out to drunks….perverts….currency holders….and the cash assisted…

Wedge, I said,….it’s gotten weird…Manhattan has gotten too weird….

Manhattan, he scoughed, It’s the whole country…..small towns…..County seats…..cornfields in Iowa….it’s all gotten too wierd….

Yes….yes it has….

Feel the Berne…..

Riding shotgun on Green Dolphin Street….Bill Evans at the wheel….white-noise of who can talk a higher decibel rises….muffled by Paul Chambers bass line…..

A right-hand taps a left thigh…Philly Joe keeps time….prayers are lifted from black Keys and meditative peace hugs….notes….hold me along the Westside….Jazz….the last bastion …of transendence…..

Riding shotgun on Green Dolphin Street with Bill Evans at the wheel….

Passing pulpits of prophets…..warnings of impending doom…..gentlemen’s quarters….whore’s dens….all-night donut shops and 24 hour car washes….wealth around every corner…… I’m still with Bill…

I’m still with Bill…..calm…at  ease…..Riding on Green Dolphin Street…

Riding on Green Dolphin Street…

It is the most  American of all holidays: St. Patrick’s day….the rites of spring fully exercised….fully exposed….

Protestant girls in green tight tops showing tits to drunken boys whose masculinity wanes from day to day…..always check on what’s trending….

Catholic hipsters line 5th Avenue…..flasks outwardly open….smells of whiskey….odors of ales…..midnight mistakes will be made….

All around the banners of Americana:Budweiser….Coors..Miller Lite…..Boston’s Sam Adams (made in Cincinnati ) posted on windows of bars and taverns and diners and all that will be allowed…soon the riches will flow..

And Catholic churches are empty….there are no prayers lifted….nor candles lit….

What….You think you’re in Ireland?

A man on the cheap….
Call it greed….
Perhaps stupidity….
This is the current climate….

Slick Rick sold subway swipes for 2 bucks….such a deal…
Here’s one better….swipe it for free my nigga…..

An argument….loud mouths….one’s gotta blade…
A quart of blood later and Rick ain’t slick….
Dead on a subway platform….

You have to understand, Fat Joe pontificated, To the homeless 2 bucks is a million, He peeled an orange and nodded his head….

See….the mind of the mentally ill can’t comprehend right from wrong because of too much oxygen to their brains, Fat Joe was on a roll…

Prison will be the best thing for him, a slice of fruit devoured, He will have a bed….food…it is unfortunate….., His bizarre  reasoning complete…..

Evil and illness….right and wrong…..those with and those without….
We are now on the verge of danger…Get ready for summer….

With one loud word….one strike with a hand….one too many tries at free rides….and…of course….one cop making the wrong call….

Dearest Apollo…..look down upon us….Dionysus….place us in a peaceful slumber…..

Oedipus has yet to learn his fate…..

No longer an easiness in mornings…no more….
Sleeping on metal chairs…park benches….wet turf….You reap what you sew….Right?

Rooms….churches….synagogues…soup kitchens….line-up…..you’ll get yours….. These were choices made…Right?

Was there ever a chance… Placing a spike in a vein a choice….A crack-pipe picked up at midnight….The bottle bought at the bodega…..choices…..Right?

The crazy woman by Penn Station…mascara and Rouge worn as war paint….Mumbling myths of Sappho….She’s looking for an angle…..Right?

Kids stealing…slashing faces in Manhattan….in Brooklyn….wallets picked-up on 3 on the morning trains….finders….keepers…..Right?

Money made at the flick of a key….moving options….funding this….de-funding that in office cubicles with high-fives generated at water-coolers….Earned…..Right?

Right…..

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..