Grand Central Station
alas listless and lifeless
Zeno here lays man
the stoicism
in his blood sustained him but
human daemon
did not intervene
still he held on a witness
to nothing but dreams
Logos who do you trust
the mote in his crying eyes
or the beam obscured
by the lies in yours
thus succumbs by the hands of
dogma and doxa
monsters are worst during the day she thinks slowly mind trailing snail like
their colors the monsters she confirms are like a.m. radio dull warning of their arrival yet
their eyes watch as thirty six who is now old
steps in the puddle with patent leather
baby doll left shoe tarnished forever
on Alameda street
thirty six hears the screams
the burn of fire water cold sweat cold hand
like old silver buffalo she watches
they move with pain purple sprouts twixt
calloused knuckles from fighting air
social malignancy history blithe
we all are on Alameda street
dusk whispers urgency between clenched teeth
the yes daddy girls learn their beat
the lonely boys stretch the meat
nothing changes into double negative
we may all be on Alameda street
sun has had his days
with you now my eyes observe
your bone’s offering
lips turned in
her voice weeps from her eyes
toes chipped bruised from travel
sunlight makes no difference
the spring rain washes nothing
locks matted with despair
her hands hold broken words
from her past
clouds drift free and wild
the horizons step aside
my wide eyes follow
words less spoken 