the moon said we'll be fine

I asked the stars about us.
They said the space between
holds so much.

The moon said we'll be fine.
I believe her. She can take a hit-
you can see it in her face.

I wonder what fish think of rain.
I bet they don't care when the sky falls,
at least not as much as we do.

My voice box has a siren setting.
I'm unprepared for everything
except the worst.

I wonder if the permafrost
ever gets tired of being frozen in the past.
There is so much to be cold about.

I want to kiss you in the snow
so we can learn to love the cold.
It will learn to melt around us.

The Altar on Avenue B

I don't know what whiskey I'll find

in this shot glass but

I know it'll taste like this city.

I liked watching those lean,

strong welder's arms pour it.

I'll bet the bartender tastes like this city.

I'm here half for the Jameson

and half for the stories.

Shit, let's be honest,

I'm here for the stories.

There are so many.

I need them, mostly to melt

into the solder that welds

my quiet childhood to this raucous life.

I'm not even sure I can work in quiet anymore.

I'm sitting on a stool at the beer-soaked altar of New York:

the great classical conditioner of prolific chaos.

A grizzled lovely veteran of this city

sits beside me. I say- "I'm 20 but I'd gladly be 40

if I could've seen your New York."

I think, "...fuck,

what’s the best way to say,

Tell me about the days

you steeped your veins in heroin

and lived dipped in music.

Tell me about the time I missed

so I can see where I'm going."

I spin my beer in my hand. I say-

"So, tell me about having nothing

and the everything in between."

adapted from a conversation with Sara Kyle

June 2013

Part 1 of the series Secondhand City

Dawn in a Fishing Boat

watercolor rocks,
gnats vibrate above sunrise,
the wake is solemn.

haiku, March 2013