More Friday

Waiting for the elevator, I am going down so I push the down button.My friend Sammy, who once pulled tobacco in Virginia, comes along and pushed the up button though he too is going down. "Don't you know yet that it gets here faster if you push the up button to go down?"he berates. It is an ongoing issue with us. Such is life is a Mid-Mahattan SRO. Many empty stops. To accomodate all the ghosts, I guess.

Thursday

Tough, tough, individual Americano that Thoreau. He seems to think, though, cobwebs are just beautiful. That cobwebs exist only near rustic New England barns. I do him a great disservice. My own toughness runs in the family. None of us kids ever saw Mom and Dad hug, let alone kiss, though Pop took her deer hunting once, dressing her in his red construction hard hat. Pro and con. He did plant rose bushes but he killed chickens, hitting the with a baseball bat. Me, I was more concerned with the floating milkweed, after I opened the pod. He never understood. He was a doer, not a dreamer. Thoreau.
I guess he died a virgin,he was so devoted to his "artistic freedom." Me, I would now give up my freedom in a heart beat to my sometimes red haired, sometimes blond woman friend. I quit for the day. I need to rewrite as Thoreau did with his book, Walden. More to come. Bachelorhood is all about having a favorite plastic spoon--but I digress. That's a joke, not self pity.

Wednesday

Can't remember if Christ was the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. Santa I guess. There were more gifts on Christmas than Easter though Mom always dressed me well for Easter. It was one of the few times we went to church. Now April and Easter approach. Someone said the Daffodils were sprouting in our Times Square garden. I check it out and find that the Daffodils are up about an inch. The afternoon approachs and I hunt for my Thoreau book; he was the big nature lover.Later I walk up 7th Avenue toward the Central Park, gazing up at the giant video screen with a Smiley Face M&M. who climbs a mock Empire State building. He beats his animated chest like King Kong and then he looks down and is scared by what he sees. That seems human enough, I thinkand I continue my walk where I wave to a woman with a black poodle. She waves back. In New York they usually don't do that but she guesses me harmless, which I am. Although it's a very clear day, the park is dulled by patches of dirty snow, snow which had drooped all the ivy. The park reminds me of the farm where I spent my growing years. Father planted rose bushes. I was like the mildweed; when I broke the pod the spores drifted everywhere. Dinner with my beloved went well last night. (Time to drop the other shoe)









daf

A dull moment takes on the dirty white color of a spider's web. The sun is a no-show and the forecast calls for rain. I postpone today's walk to Central Park--let Henry David Thoreau be the intrepid one. I think too much on dead flies and try to think instead of the escaping butterflies. The web is so sticky--unconditional love so sticky--I do the unThoreaulike thing (he was not Mr. Personality) of buying our desk clerk tea and I find myself looking forward to my dinner date with a lovely, lovely woman. That too seems very unThoreau....but very me.

Saturday's Walk

Walking to Central Park, the sky the color of machined steel. Fluffy snowflakes float, then stop. The park is like a print by Currier and Ives-- the diffuse light makes the snow on the trees look like cake frosting. As I pass the playground and the ball fields I see teens, with great laughs, throwing snow. The carousel is running and tots go up and down and around in bliss. An old bachelor, I wonder if I've missed anything. I have but I walk on without regret. I am what I am.

Love the new room,
the new lawn, the
new front door.
Love too the fresh breeze.

Night's blanket
folds and unfolds
and the white rabbit
pops out like a moon.
Or the moon pops out
like a white rabbit.
I ain't too sure which is
which. But it's light.

Walk in refrigerator,
so glad to have you.
I seal. But the light
still hits the strawberries.

Let us circle arms
woman---
too often I see only
my dancing feet.

I love breathing.
So I circle into my lungs
and I listen to the music
that is me.

night's dark quilt---
stars like shiny buttons--
clouds pass---too

Home boy,
you drive your words
like rivets. Where ya
wanna go? What ya
wanna build? With
your small stabbing heat?

Yvor Winters Quote:
"The night is winter and a dull man bending..."

I Gave Up Chocolate

First Sunday of Lent
walking to church I spot
a bird with gold body stripes.
He eats undeterred.

unfolding petals deli
my winter walk--
bright faces from
other countries...

We dream the whiteness,
the new sheets, the new
motions, new conditions,
dream clear blue skies as
we wrinkle together under
our own special sun lamp,
the one that hides aloneness.

Squeaky head,
shampoo too
the whispers
as you too
clean the sink.

The snow falls on my white rabbit.
"Yes it's magic," he says, blending in,
"every flake is unique."

spangles like
ten thousand sparrows,
the sea, the sun...

Listening

"A terrific fish," he said. "It's destined for a
plaque high on the wall. Who could eat this fish?
Well, at least let's take a picture."

Studying Honor Moore

I do me, but I say us.
The trampoline was a given.
High on the trapeze, the crowd shimmers.
High in the dark net, I shiver.
I have climbed. Must I go too?

Bittersweet

Walking the dog,
the sun a gliding swan,
and my soul a blowing
piece of paper
as I listen to the music
of this cool-clear but
untamed day.