I am an old piano Born in Manhattan. And with barely 70 keys, I still sit grand But not a Grand Piano. I'm ornate, it's true, And one-of-a-kind. A gift for a wealthy child at first But he never played me. I just sat in the corner of his room and looked pretty. Over the … Continue reading 1858 Steinway Square Piano
Tag: poet
And I'm still half asleep as the morning bell sounds. I shower, shave, and make coffee. Forty-five minutes on the train to Union Square, where there are too many people sleeping on the ground. I take myself inside and the store's still in shadows-- And I'm going down stairs masked from the bit of daylight … Continue reading The Strand Shelving Shift
Three pairs of shoes, and a rotating fan Six dusty photographs, two broken lamps A leash for a dog A string for a cat Three overdue library books And three more In three days Due back There's a comb he's forgotten 'bout-- He's balding, it's true And he wants some more records Though there's stacked, … Continue reading His Bedroom and Its Closet
Our life is not a movie or maybe. Beyond what contrives to be able to be a cold wreck of dawn when the cities were towns. Just forget what's begotten aloft and brought down.Unless it's kicks you gave me. Unless it's tricks you played me. Unless it's patter with the crowds. Unless it's mixed to shame … Continue reading The Greatest Album of All Time: The Stage Names by Okkervil River
Work might get in the way of resting on your laurels. Work might take your hangover sideways toward illness. Work might play with its guns as you've cleaned out the sheets. Work might pace around screaming "more socialist seats!" Work might leave you in stitches, and cry out, "you fool!" As you waltz passed the … Continue reading What Work Might To Do You
It's March and you can't find your sunglasses, but it doesn't matter because the sun isn't shining. It's midnight and you're awake and you don't know why, but the moon is out and smiling and the street lights are on and it all makes you wish you had your sunglasses. Frozen in time, the world … Continue reading Midnight Without Sunglasses (after Frank O’Hara)
This door keeps out the sounds of the hallway. This door can hear every word uttered here. This door demands our attention when slammed. This door swings on its hinges, rusted. This door's in tune with the walls at its sides This door speaks not, but listens carefully. This door relies on its framing, unsplintered. … Continue reading This Door
high noon, moon shines. low eyes swoon swine. oh my sides shift up and moon drifts call out shout miff cloud six signs fix bold minds drift and though i don't shower, i drip. so, does the child whimper? does the mother kit swiftly? do the hobbies meander into bimonthly streaks? where do dig shepherds … Continue reading battle tested
