dmseay

Brown  glistening waters jump and roll and crash and chop and bite and kick….Across town another river does just the same….maybe less bravado….

Flying over Whitman’s Grass……Miller’s Air Conditioned Nightmare…….Mailer’s American Dream…..what must they think of us down below….

God’s chosen making deals on a Manhatta  afternoon as goys jog along concrete paths preparing for a week of folly…..Yale is well represented by blondes in cute caps and young boys playing grown-up….

Manhatta is a mistress….a whore who will part her shimmied  thighs for anyone with a buck to spare…..

Cause…she knows….Manhatta knows the ways and the charms to break us all….

Lurking around in dark morning to creepy light when kids of nighttime sledge home to small boxes….closeted lovers….and Vanity Fair dreams wrapped in silver strands and golden bows….

And yet….this on- going misery….sometimes…melencholy…..sometimes madness….and marvelous as well….leads us on again and again and again….

Count on it….

Same clothes been worn for days now…travel lite….don’t get weighed down….

Hotel sized toothpastes…tiny soaps….little bottles of shampoo…..smaller piece….

Loosies doled out for a buck …..menthol madness…How do we do it? volume….volume….volume…

And on every street corner….in every crevice…..stairwells….public bathrooms….in parks throughout Manhattan…..the burning of blunts….the stinky fresh smell of burning herb….? Kids…grown-ups….hip-hop clothed….fatigues as well….all burning leaves….

K2 freaks walking around Union Square… stragglers from the Needle Park days…mixed into playgrounds…ball courts…looking and looking and looking for a score…..stealing packets of sugar where ever they can find it..  McDonald’s…..Dunkin’ Donuts…making sweeps through the streets for junk….pills….methadone…..a sweet taste of something..

We’re all in search of something….a mission….a mecca. ..

It never ends…

Mingus moanin’ in Times  Square….hear ’em….drivin’ horns uptown…rhythm section scatterin’….never missin’ a beat….never missin’ a beat….

Mingus moanin’…..the dapper Dan’s and the Suzy Q’s walk in form….going off to a commencement in commerce while a young trick is ployed, Here…look fat and say a baby’s on the way, Some folks’ll buy anything…

Mingus moanin’ and there’s  no sign of a Bop revolution…rejuvinication…no rejoicing…. just Elmo….Mickey and Minnie….crying out to pimps….prophets of doom…..policemen dolled-up in blues….Midwestern tourists lost in the shuffle….

Always lost….always….we never find ourselves no matter how hard we look…..it ain’t gonna’ happen

Mingus moanin’ in Times Square…
listen…..listen…

The bus took Westside Highway up to 92nd….dodging fast cars…semi-trucks…taxi-cabs…. and junkies in junkers trying to get out of Dodge quick as they can…..their souls left in a city with no tolerance for the weak… winners and losers….Guess who won…..

Word word word word word….That song keeps playing over and over….every hour on the hour….Word word word word tell me what you heard heard heard heard…..Vagabonds singing along to this incoherent hip-hop hoe-down of nothing…..absolute nothing…..”I ain’t takin’ the rap for no rap,” Gil Scott Heron.

The bus keeps swerving and moving faster with an ear-phoned driver…..one eye on traffic….the other on Facebook….

Word word word word….tell me what you heard heard heard now….And a drunk Southern  queen won’t stop rambling-on about Shoe fly pie and Apple cream….Made by a mom years ago when somebody cared…..

So….ear-plugs are placed….and Bill Evans plays On Green Dolphin Street…Philly and PC make time eloquently. ….

Now there is peace….

Sitting in a shelter next to a guy in a dress with beard stubble and a brooch…Sometimes things just work out this way….

I see your reading Erica Jong, He says softly….almost secretively…She’s very good….very erotic….sexual, A cupped hand covers the mouth, Jong is like an intelligent Andrew Dice Clay, Takes a pill from a daily dispenser, Don’t you find?

Sis…I’ve been homeless off and on for nearly five years now ….And …I’ve heard some strange shit….believe me…..But…that is truly the most bizzare…In fact…..I don’t even know how to respond….other than….No….Erica Jong is not anything like Andrew Dice Clay…..At all…

The pill case was placed back in a blue-jean purse with an ivory Victorian face dangling from a zipper, Well….no-body’s perfect….

God love ya Sis…..God love ya..

Resting in a Catholic Church basement ….reading poetry by Erica Jong….Surrounded by freshly released sex offenders, a few muggers, some thieves, and a couple of crazies…..Be still….just be still….

Next week is daylight savings time, The junkie quips, It’s done for Con- Edison so they can save electricity, Sips from a paper cup filled with cough medicine….

Really? a voice under covers asks….You buy that?

Yes….That’s why it is….That’s what I’d heard….I’m not going to question logic…

Erica was taking me all in….a beauty.. honesty….sexiest Broad to ever write the English language…

These corporations own the way we do everything….Even the country’s clocks….The springing ahead…..The falling behind….That’s what I’d heard…

Come-on Erica….Let’s get back to business…

The tables are lined-up….row after row….empty metal chairs waiting for the night-shift….the day-light panhandlers…the Broadway beggars…the Big Bus ticket hawkers….and the fairies, done with their daily doses of poppers and pixie dust….they’ll be amped-up ’til midnight….

And all the brothers wanna piece of the action….whatever can be scored…and newly arrived white boys who lost their way look-on…  This ain’t Kansas kids….

They walk amongst the world’s richest….rubbing shoulders with no-one… no straight looks…just mumbled doses of lost dignity from booze, K2, crack, meth, or…maybe a loss of hope from a broken bliss, a haunted home….So much more was dreamt….wished-for….

The metal chairs and dinner tables are lined-up for guests…..the door to the shelter  will be opened…All are welcomed.. 

Too many….too…too….too much…Loud noises….former in-mates turned outcasts….

Insults……Pissing for territory……Grown men rapping along to a song by a kid….

Some bitch did this……some hoe did that……Yelling out above techtronic beats, Nigga…you best be respctin’ my black-ass, A threat;come through with a hook or a blade?…..who knows.

Always the centers….the shelters….. .Bellevue’s Emergency Room……filled with talk…talk…
talk….talk….talk…..a tough guy’s ballad to all around him, Don’t be Fucking With Me MotherFucker, proving he’s the smartest, the toughest, always proving. 

Loudness… bouncing off slept-in metal chairs….cold tiled floors….walls keeping all in…..away from a now money moving Chelsea…..

Punk Rock died…Bop Jazz passed-away long ago don’t you know…..Replaced with condos….cute pork pie hats worn by kids who’ve never heard of Mingus…..Sorry Charlie…..You’re safe with me…..

Goodbye Pork Pie…..so long Bop….These  past stories and old characters are gone….And there is a loneliness in this current racket….I don’t belong….

Sitting at a drop-in center on 30th….among former inmates turned outcasts….

From across the street, the rue, she kept an eye on us all…..prospective customers….Men looking for a deal; who will buy?

Her thick mangled hair of black laid nonchalantly….constantly winking….not come hither; a come-on….give me a chance….a why not…look….you could do worse….

Winks, chatting away at imaginary  figures in Montreal’s hood of the hopeless, I’ve seen her before…..everyday….

It was in front of a liquor store she named a price, I’ll give you all of me for a six pack…all of me…

You got it sis….buy ya whichever…whatever you want….life’s a negotiation…..

With small hands and a slight meow…..she chose Budweiser….The King of Beers….tall boys….

Dirty looks from Asian business owners as we walked to a nearby park….They’re selling booze….she’s selling a body….what’s the difference….

A button on a tight blouse was undone, Wait, I told her, Just wait….open-up a beer and talk to me…..that’s what I want….talk…

A chuckle turned into laughter…..one beer….then another…She was in no rush…

I don’t know where my family is, She yawned, I gave-up a long time ago….I looked everywhere….they were never where I thought I left them….

I nodded….

Did you lose your family too?

I did Kathleen….I did…

I’m sorry….

So am I….so am I…

Her final swig was taken…the tin placed neatly in a sack and thrown away…,It’s just that simple, She throttled my lap, Just that simple…

And then, a kiss on my mouth much needed was given…

Thanks Kathleen.

Standing in-line….she runs her hands through her own hair…..maybe….just maybe no-one else ever did… Let’s not get messy….

Skinny jeans….skinny dress pants…skinny kids….The hip….the uber cool….how long will it last….

Young men in mascara….waxed eye-brows….coiffed cuts…..all tuned-in…to the newest…..the best….the most spoiled brats in God’s great universe…

Hey you kids…..Get off my damn lawn…