...bike o bike...

bike o bike

sun o sun

light o light

run run run

over the shore path

under the dirty bridge

behind the foundry

beside the edge

of the pot hole

porous pavement

save your tires

from bad behavior

...losing count...

there is nothing tragic

about a countess losing

count of her heirs

losing count of her wealth

losing out on this death

of a count

of an account

of a lifted pace or face

of course she is this disgrace

and the knife bring her stasis

cold cold normal stasis

level upon level upon level

of made up make up

countess lose count

of your break ups

fake cups

lips too

million upon million

into your counted oblivion

...ghost...

in abstentia

what can replace the body

or the sensual

taste touch tonic

the denile of essential

oils and fragrance

loyal to you and I

and afraid

of growing wilder

not older

in its absense

...grin...

a smile on her face

turning upwards

until it reaches skies

(that process)

...cold melt...

the snow left

behind is no match

for the sun that wants

to glare through

make the water

cold in the power

that it wields

even at this particular angle

and time of our day

...plight...

you can only

feel so much for them

before you start

to realize that you

are suffering just

the same as them

...white piles...

thank you for this white blessing

and this day of white reflection

as the white piles up

and the white pillars fall

all the way to the street

only to become grey

not the way it is supposed to

be not this white purity

that takes away this grey

pavement and dismay from us

so that we can blanket

today anew and start with

the snow, finish with calm

that it has brought

in the guise of a storm

...warning or watch...

never a surprise

even to the predictors

of depths and images

and snowdrifts

radars and crystal

ball rooms full

of white and grey and pink

clouds with latitudes

and longitudes for tattoos

salters and spreaders

to first instigate

then deaden the pain

that proceeds frostbite

and white out blind winds

...red night...

knowing that red

at the dance red at the light

red in Harlem dancing

to the cold fears that

are outside the buildings

and circling the streets

warm inside warm and red

on the side of the walk

and the tread of the boots

as the song sings its chorus

and you sway red to the beat

to the red light

and the red red night

...coin for candidate...

except for the language

what it is that we don't get

about this flawed communication

that is so infuriating?

I know this is theory

not faith or even morality

but you cannot give away

the password to the vault

or the key code to the file

to the one with the most

in the vault or least invested

in your time and word;

this is not a supremely made decision

this will be the birth

of the most false notion

of democracy, one

that is fully emblazoned

on the next pressing

of coin

...short and unsteady...

bicycle in the way

of repetition today

and all those gulls

that flocked to the sagging

spot by the water

cramped up in the cold

want my flight

not their own to take

them south or a place

where an organs can pump

blood faster than the cold

air next to the Hudson

will allow, shallow breathes

slower beats, wheeze

...page of the book...

Bookshelves are transparent.

I wish the books were.

They wouldn't weigh

so much. I wish that the pages

were as light collectively

as they are when they are lonely

when the reader takes one

into their hand, holds it there

wisp-in-the-wind light, no pounds

no hard cover to hide between,

revealing the weight

of the words. This should never be

with complete transparency.

...missing ends and pieces...

have you found the end

of your year yet I know its

around here somewhere

but it has gone missing

like the keys and wallet

events and occupations

photos and poems

all the days we have left

behind and all the narrow

paths that begin to widen

in the fresh start of a decade

the truly trivial beginning

of a numerical refresh button

we feel safe starting at one

like a newly created piece

...scars and gloss on Sue...

rain eats it

away from paint

and salt strips her

last bits of gloss

auburn burnt rust

metal bent and popped

into place, scars

of street sweepers

stains of plow

iodine in detritus

cracks in streets, wheels

rains eat it

away so she can

shine again tomorrow

--for Sue B.

...snow first...

if this white blanket

folds and it will

with the help of salt

and stone then

this renewal seems

false and this all

seems so not pure

and the blanket

becomes binding

around the feet

...cold air and dinner...

december is the cruelest brunch

and the "samich" stand freezes

to it own leaks and metals

so we'll go to the lunch place

with the soup and we'll go to

remember the dinner before

we have even tasted an appetizer

or a kiss or the first spoon

of our new year

and the anniversary

of my minor entree

into this air, vapor

cloud white

in this atmosphere

...white cheddar...

bye bye white cheddar

and dead mouse dying

at the hand of a butcher

who couldn't figure out

the simplest cut; he dragged

and tore at the meat;

breaking it down hard

as the drive that kept it living.

With the trails

of meat left behind

and the snows that are coming

the leopard will be along

to quickly clean

up the fragments

and bits of memory

...festival late...

in passages not taken

by these shoes

all of you will be welcomed

in by the mystery

of a cover and the promise

of a celebration

in the desert.

Be cautious: it's cold out at night.

...visitations...

no matter

how many times

I get to see you

folks I want to see

you folks even more

and more

...termination cycle...

hitting the door

faster than they could

hit the cold concrete

faster than the girl

could scream

faster than the traffic

that continued by

faster than it took

for the ambulance

to come faster than

blood that was running

faster than the thought

where I place ourselves

on their cycle faster

than the thought

that we are safe for now