November 2011
10 posts
“So…
Be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Medecai Ali Van Allen...”
– Dr. Seuss
In The Museum
(Written a few years ago and lyrically reconstructed today.)
In front of Amedeo Modigliani’s Reclining Nude of 1917 a sudden cold gust from the vent moves a few straggling hairs onto my face. You stare at my profile as I glide my fingers across my lips, sweeping the hairs back into place behind my ear. You lick your lips. I turn to you and see the everything of your thoughts. We smile....
Even After All this time The Sun never says to the Earth, “You owe me.” Look What happens With a love like that, It lights the whole sky.” from the Poet, Hafez, Thirteenth Century
First Snow
Lower East Side, the lungs of the island. Harlem, the mouth. Wall Street, the decrepit liver and kidneys rotting from their avarice feasts of spoiled meats. Sickly East River. Metallic fish. The racing footsteps on wet, hardening cold pavement disenchant the European travelers on visit to their old New Amsterdam.
But even the new-comer, sophomoric two-year inhabitant, and downtown, disco...
