Tuesday, March 8

Superimposed Clouds of Fire

Watching water lapping against the confines of burrows
hollowed out eons ago
listening to the hum of the park lights
thoughts about what this is
what is this?
its people in fleece running by
floating on top of the surface of a mind

And the wind is relentless
but it feels good
it feels like shifting sand
mistakes strewn about
and this
a step into some sort of contrived light

Ellis Island still holds on
and the lady in copper still carries that torch of freedom
a light for those coming in from distant lands
a long as your skin is right

Just sitting here now
trying to see whats written in the sky
whats written on skin

Just sitting there
watching the planes coming in
and the city lights turn on in the race of repetitive cycles
preparing for nightfall

Honeycomb concrete
littered with last years discards

Battery Park, I love you.
I love how real you are. I love how deeply you hold us all. I l love how you stand off Jersey to this city and the backdrop is a setting sun. I love how your wind blows any sort of belief away. All the way up this deviated Hudson, full of laughter and cries, all this, coexisting
at the same time.