I used to be ready to join whatever came along. And what used to come along were people like me, People whose strings had come unstrung; Mapless – like Hansel and Gretel chasing crumbs by a translucent glass dividing life and middle class’ Flickering out to highways like galaxies in a dark night’s sky. Advertisements
and her own mind
Desolate and wild as the wind. … More The Underground
Poetry says what a writer means – prose what a writer thinks about.
Sun wallowing bellow the horizon You drove against our first torrent of snow; Snow that outlasted a mid-winter thaw Then icy rains that sealed it into slippery mounds, Until now: a week before spring. Waking plants keep trying to see the sun.
In China Town’s Teaming, sun-steamed streets, Oriental ladies Trundle Chinese-charactered plastic bags Weighted strait down To their shuffle stepping feet Under eyes as implacable as stars.
Now comes spring Hear it ring against the walk: April’s spray Splashing tender shoots to summer roots, Rising green on blue, And waving warm in a glory of gliding gold.
Winter’s made the city white: First fall after the winter’s hubbub, Cooling more quickly than expected. Soon January will be here Breathless for summer When under the flying lamp, We’ll await the icey season’s festivities Fashioning gifts before fall.
