that river
it’s daytime,
and a wide, swift river of
faces
is flowing down Sixth avenue,
rarely stopping
for
traffic lights.
I write, so I would have something to read.
I write things that need to be written,
but
sometimes
friends ask me
for writing
pointers,
with trust.
as if I knew
what I am doing.
the rain is broken,
it
drips
in
frigid
pulp
as beautiful as the first time
we‘ve spent
several hours
of several days
flying kites,
and searching for
the Balance
in the wind
FURTHER AWAY FROM HERE
From the cashier counter Amy called me over.
“Genna! The phone!”
At dinnertime Erny’s Diner is usually flooded with people and today was no different.
THE NIGHT LIGHT
“What is that?” I asked my friend.
He was holding a white object in his hand and was about to plug it into the wall. From far away it looked like one of those automatic air fresheners, but it wasn’t.
THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME
It was a hot Friday afternoon. I sat on the bench outside my building. Friday is usually the day the new shipment of coffins arrives and I would’ve had to be there, but today Jerry was replacing me at the funeral home. I had just begun working there and it was my first day off in a whole month.
TWISTED SKYLINE 