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She left without a word…not a sound….silence from a family dis- section years ago….Everyone to their corners….

No calls….numbers were lost along the way….along with photographs and memories of stretching a budget….making beans and hamhocks for five….sopped- up in cornbead…cast in an iron skillet..

And there was Southern harmony….played- out in a backyard garden turned football field in the fall….brownies for all, Here….take home some squash for your parents, Every kid gotta bag full…

But years went by…..sins emerged….secrets….accusations…falsehoods…..Family politics…the last bastion of Southern life….

Pride cut deep….but….whose?….a middle child daughter….believing a better deal was to be had….

Two older sons…..with safes of their own….locked…..kept out of sight…..

And this nomad….never landing…never ending…..just propelled into madness fueled by suicide attempts….hospitalizations …..park benches and homeless shelters; maybe it was my fault….

Yet…the angel….the last in the line-up….whose laugh was honest….whose tears….real…..He knew the truth….

The truth….there was never enough. Not for us….not for her….And that’s as Southern as it gets…..There’s a reason Faulkner drank himself to death….

On Lexington they walk….strut….dance….daily….to business meetings….luncheons…nooners….God knows what sins are comitted in a Manhattan mid- morning….

She came towards the mob….face buried…. down… under thick blonde hair like Harlowe….striking a pose as all walked around her… a statue stationed in Midtown…Watch your step boys…

Well….atleast she was reading a paper…

Big Joey lumbered into the shelter…olive skinned…..somehow stepping Flamenco. …

How are you my friend?….I am Jose the Spaniard, a piss-yellow smile, And you?…

I am Basque, extended a hand….

Oh….we are brothers, the fat man said, We are familia….

Uh…..no….We are not….

Oh yes, He encouraged,…No difference….

Oh yeah?….Tell that to fucking Franco…..

Central Park West plays through headphones..and..there is  peace….a calm that mad dashing slashers of the night can’t take away….

Coltrane blows transendence.. resurrection…leaving all this….this….what is this….

It is fear….anger…insanity …muscle aches from Seroquel….thoughts of nothing….and nothing is worse than nothing….

Today there is salvation through a set of headphones blowing Central  Park West…..

Tomorrow…..who knows….

The numbers were rolling-in on CNN; the Shiksa had ’em, the Jew never had a chance….

Look at that, the Jew squeaked, Would you look at that, CNN reports another state for St. Hillary,  and another, and another…

She hates Jews, a drink of Guiness, When I was over in Israel… fighting in the army.
…that broad was shaking hands with Yasir Arafat….

You mark my words….she gets elected….goodbye guns…..goodbye
freedom of speech, He took a breath, And she will try her damndest to get rid of Israel…..She’s the fucking devil I tell you…..

A call came in on the cell, Yeah….sure…right…..yeah….I’ll be there…..

What?

A rally for Hillary…..they’re  paying $50 a head…..Why not…..

She was Korean….a prisoner of sex….I pay them to leave…

Give good massagee, a thin lipped smile; payday requirements, a couple of bills thrown down…..,Oh…I give you good….good massagee..

An Oriental version of What A Feeling played through bamboo curtains…..remember Flashdance….a belt was loosened….dirty underwear hidden….this is a filthy business…

You ready….you want good masagee?….Yes, smiled back at her, a tight dress dropped to the floor, okay….lay down….I start now… ready?….

And then it was done….no kisses…no embrace… as bareboned as you can get…..

Reminded me of marriage…..

 

 

 

 

 

The bean counter bought coffee..  talked of life’s disappointments….a   son of the new Millennium….

I don’t like the girl, the jew said, she’s fat….unattractive, it was pointed out that Harvey was no matinee idol….

She weighs 300 pounds….he could do better….it’s money….he loves her money, he stretched and sipped; gave his wrinkled face a shake, I tell you….he could do better…

Harvey…..we all could….so be it. What do you want?

We gave him everything, his dark hands trembled….and this is what we get….Moby Dick for a daughter in law….

You’re never happy Harvey…..never fucking happy….get over it…..

33rd and Fashion….peering down on people…looking up at commerce….Uncle Cracker croons a pop love potion while a shouting between two brothers begins, “Yo you see me in line nigga? you see me here?”……Black-hawk down….Black-hawk down….I repeat….Black-hawk down…

Brown shit sprayed upon a men’s room toilet…where junk was kicked…K2 was lit…..and a midnight date with Wild Irish Rose ended in a deep locked kiss……No protection used……

A Polish broad….pajama topped and tattooed neck…. holds onto a little girl so close….so very close…mouth moving to music…..”Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in”..can’t blame you at all sister…..

Here….seated…talking away at imaginary friends….long gone loves…..strangers uttering Spanish….German…..Pig Latin….. The floor is mopped…trash discarded… Yet…nothing is cleansed.

See ya tomorrow…..

It is listening to the Bill Evans trio play Gloria’s Step for the first time….And then every time after….. it’s just as fresh…..

Watching kids laugh in Central Park…Held by grandparents…placed on shoulders….

Walking past panhandlers and donating a buck or two…..a chat with a bag lady…..PLEASE HELP A VET……maybe he’s lying..what’s the difference…throw a bill….

It is listening to John Coltrane play Central Park West for the first time….And then every time after….it’s just as fresh…..

Halal lamb over rice for $5……a great yogurt sauce…..a slice of grilled pita…..and a can of soda while standing on a hosed down sidewalk…..some smells never leave….

A movie at The Mid-Town library on a Sunday afternoon…a Friday night at MoMA….the number 4 at 2nd Avenue Deli…..a cool waitress at The White Horse Tavern….talkin’ to a retired fireman who just lit a candle for his wife…..

It is listening to Miles Davis play So What…….Yes…..It is listening to Miles Davis play…… So What…….

 

 

Surrounded by crazies….. cons……criminals….Looking for angles…..same road…different routes….who will get there first?…..

RAP sheet says this….RAP sheet says that….converting prison life to the shelters….the drop-in centers…soup kitchens….get in line…wait your turn….don’t ask me again….

The pecking order is long…. power struggles…..prosthetic intelligence….mouths a-poppin’ all night long….Academia need not apply….

Not Beckett…..nor Joyce…or Bach…loud…bombastically blaring BET rings off walls….stacking metal folding chairs….slept-on in seven different positions…..a blinking eye never closes….

It’s the system man…..the system…..Yeah I shot that motherfucker….and I robbed a liquor store…and I beat that hoe you knows…but see I’m the victim here….Aint nobody done broken these chains….My chains aint been broken…..

Get a-hold of The Jaws of Life…….break ’em yourself…..