I remember.
Walking with you on West End Avenue.
Laughing and Laughing.
We used to go into the drug stores and try different eye creams Attempting to conceal the fatigue that comes from staying up
for days on end.

Partying
Man, did we party.

And I remember.
The different creatures we would run into
along the way.
Creatures of the night.
Mostly emotionally disturbed characters.
Running from life or running from themselves.
Some real crazies.

You remained my good friend.
A reliable person.  Something rare in life.
We would talk about the mistakes we made
and the good choices as well.
Careful never to beat ourselves up too badly.
Because sometimes, it’s hard to make the right choices.
And it’s better to laugh when you mess up.
It’s better to laugh if you can.

Just straight repeats are playing
In the darkness.
"Beat me" proceeds burnt out,
******* wisdom.

Broken, beat-up, second hand,
Used emotions,
Carve grooves and ruts so deep
On fractured psyches.

"Don't you want to turn it off now,
Take their hands and give them cleaning?"

"Don't you want to burn the house down,
Gather ashes and give life meaning?"

Friend.
I went by your old place on West 26th Street
Your name was no longer on the buzzer.  I pushed it anyway.
When an Asian woman answered  I knew you were gone.
Nobody coming out of the building seemed to remember you
Just goes to show.

I went by the old diner at which we used to eat
Same handwritten signs, same menus
Same old tables.
But no you.

I found it strange that the waitress remembered me but couldn't remember
The guy who'd been going there for decades.
Maybe I should have brought a photo
To spark her memory
Maybe I should have reached out to you,
Bitten the bullet and swallowed my pride
Because now the fight seems trivial
Its the rest of the stuff that seems important,

All the good stuff we shared.

People used to sew patches on old jeans and put new soles
on favorite shoes.
Modern life has changed.  We throw things out and buy new.
But some things are irreplaceable.
They are worth the effort a repair would require.
Friend.
My friend.

If all the leaves are gone
Then where’s the story?
If all the money is gone
Then what are you hiding?
If you have been here before
Where do I go from here?

If all disaster falls
At the last leg of home,
If all the thieves are caught
Then why all the cameras?
If even ******* fall in love
Why can’t I?

Saturday and it’s 5a.m.
Saturday and the room starts to spin
Smoke a cigarette and look down
At this grey, grey town.

And they will beat the drum
For any cause
If everything is ******
Then where do we start?
If all the money is gone
How do you manage
To sell out to all your friends and thieves?

If all the leaves are gone
Then what’s the damage
When every country is armed
To their teeth and think-

When the power is gone
What will we feed upon?
Have we reached the end
Or can we start over again?

Today

Corridor
cubicle
knick-knacks...
computer,
chair
co-worker­...

Parking lot
status/car
leather seats
class established
road home...

Modern large, house
many rooms, furniture.
Giant television, computer
game console, throw pillows...
...beautiful wife, luxury bedroom.

Money in stocks, paid-off home
inherited wealth, garden with gnome
butterfly bushes, peonies, sunflowers
life of fulfillment, family of hours...
...everything in life, collected, recorded.

1,000 years later

...dust...


Whom could afford it?

.
I have seen couples,
So far from each—
Other, on a platform,
Waiting for the next train,
Never touching, yet how
They ****** their mobile
Devices, how softly, sweet,
Without guile nor agenda
They swipe the glass—
As it swoons back in return
With blue lights and alerts,
So dearly needed and answers,
In way words for the machines
Of flesh and the ghost within,
With such personal aplomb
In real notifications of text
And instant message.

and often nights? i -
i’ll have no trouble
it’s the screens that
do me in.

the fallen angel
the lithesome, spent glow
of do-overs
it just
does me in.

i am too possessed
by mercurial vapor
a dead self
at 2 and 3 and 4am
egging on, asking
“keep looking? it’s
somewhere in the archives.
it has to be.”

i promised, i promised
i wouldn’t, i promised
or I’d spend months
years, decades of life
living in the guesswork
the in-betweens
lying in the pathways
between the thought
and the reflex.

i could scroll a whole
lifetime away
in wanting.
it’s the screens that
do me in.

The light that burns darkness
Still sleeping above faint sky

World is splinted with woods
Steel is constructing mankind

Removing the portraits of life
They play the game of smoke

Happiness crossed terminator
Reddening my eyes with moan

Let me discover my reflection
On pupil of Your evident soul

Lift me up with Your firm arms
For staircase demotes to Hell

Tend my existing solitude and
Whisper, “It’s still not too late.”