location ireland

cast iron nuggets

subject to the object

the matter in charge

whip of the backbone

teetering on the edge

how can one let go?

everything has an inner beauty

beauty

even in dying

and death

it is to be lived

alive among the decaying

time capsule

stillness surrounds

dripping memories

post-surgical stress

metal implants

relics remain

erratic features

impregnated terrain

organs scattered

discarded limbs

order

chaos

larger schemes

central park lungs of the city

here one can imagine nature taking back

the physical architecture - the processes of commerce

transforming the life of the city into a communion

with organic flows outside of productivity and performance

a simple enhancement of daily practice

where the trees are equals of intelligence we have yet to grasp

(we creeping vines that strangle through all-conquering desire)

a symbiosis of animal and plant cells engaging with mineral structures

oxygentank for natural charge

unkempt - unruly

wild entropy - ecstatic growth

life cycles of organic soup bubbling

fermenting amid the NY elite microwave

"they should be treating us like royalty"

here in this fantasy garden

a cultured wilderness maintained for the few

decorated horses pull carriages day-in day-out

unthankful burden of self important parades

animal rights protestors jeer and wave

disapproval at the equine lot

you...

look the other way

hide your frosty breath in fur and camel hair collars

make up will hide that fake regret

spray-on station maintains this life to be led

If only one would wake from one's walking sleep

raise the consciousness and live one's living dream

this could be an harmonic scene but the truth is;

it masks the monstro-city of that which lubricates the wheels of power

a pleasant screen field where we almost rub shoulders with that which we cannot

touch

valentine rejection subway 33

arms raised high

come gift crashing down

smashed smithereens skating

on time trodden tiles

black sharded shockwave

epicentre anguished youth

no consolation

at the inopportune moment

of no consent

to love lost in loss

a public performance

of the tragic hero

we cannot intervene

from the other side of the tracks

witnessing from within

personal bubbles of thought

corona park

we have overpassed the future

rarified gaseous envelope

of sun and other stars

made visible during solar eclipse

silver glowing dark moon disc

illuminated trace of energy release

space

race

mega relics

present overpassed

speak of

past futures

mass enthusiasm

of childhood dreams

appropriated surpassed

in

beautiful winter desolation

the aura of a future promise

all boarded up - broken glass

dripped stained - concrete flake

cracked - frayed edge entropy

of old brave new worlds

jetsons park benches

ancient curves

do not invite

respite

deep

in

ice-age thaw

is this how we are going to live

at this point in someone else's future

no more rain on skin

no more sun in eyes

our honeycomb skies

a membrane limit

on our capacity to survive

undercover

in geodesic ark

shelter shield

from poisoned winds

?

the graveyard shift

starts before it begins

subway doowop gospel quartet

one dollar bonus ride

donkey jacket knuckle five

keeps a smile on your face

keeps your forehead wrinkle free

keeps your hair from being messed up

"Thanks everyone,

you just bought us

three packets

of oreo." ha ha

"By the end of the day,

we are goin' to be flyin'!"

subterranean high speed

whistle stop jammin

sweeping through

collecting loose

dollar

I am saved

rockin on down

under 25th

the graveyard shift:

the one who patrolled

the cemetery at night

to listen for the cries

of the resurrected

coma-people

buried before their time

to draw attention to

the re-awakened

state of death

please pull

a string tied

to your former deceased finger

passed through a hole in the casket

connected to a bell or flag

dead ringer saved by the bell

images:

sub-way

pyramid saves remains

wave to liberty

Chapel of Sweet Dreams

Turn-Up, Tune-In, Turn-On, Echo-Echo

@ St. Paul's Chapel, Columbia University

Coney Iceland

Coney Island is an isle not an island

a Russian enclave in the heart of US

ice and snow cover the sandy beach

countless, dormant seagulls squat

surf scavenging snowballs

the Brave put the brave face into weather vein

forever strolling on the boardwalk planks’ pain

puffed up quilted skydiving promenade

tears torn from too tender eyes

jaw face numbed to ice blasted skin

rides moan mournful - dirges to desolation

once bright - peeling paint - candy cannot lift

un - peopled, un - moving empty sensations

seafront saloons gone wild west ghost town

dodge city deserted SHOOT THE FREAK fun

abandoned, decaying, corroded, uncared-for

waiting for spring clean new investment to come

finding shelter reminds me of past days spent

at so many seaside towns of youth

seeking respite amid silent out of season concrete

hands shaking blue intensely to construct

gratefully received bites of brutish food

accepting grainy crunches of seasoning sand

with a hunger greater than hygene

or sophistication

Seagulls dance closer

performing for scraps

no time here for loitering

savouring the meal

whisk all back into the bag

dash off to find

the warmth of a cup of coffee

Walk down Brighton beach to the Russian zone, where the inhabitants live in the same giant apartment blocks as can be found in soviet monumental ‘new city’ housing projects.

Occasional old folk occupy benches

white knuckled hands hold

pocket radios to ears

catch scratch crackled chattering ether

Russian tin can broadcast

through white noise wind

no day to be at the beach

no expectancy in the crude and rude amusements

shut-down shuttering resigned to knowing

there will be no punters today

nothing to animate the inanimate

except flapping plastic bags

clinging to lightbulbs and lampposts

spectral sand shapes whisking about

expansive vacant shores

in vain searches

only to fall away...

Chilled to the bone head emptied

eyes wet made red make for train

without even desire for souveneir

Passing monumental tribute

to world hotdog eating championships

reflecting the level popular culture has attained here

Coffee Bar in Bay Ridge

Here is a slice of down-home-town americana

no trendy types here

ex-servicemen and their wives

fried breakfasts

talking 'bout the movies

eggs and sausages sizzle...

"never saw Sam that man."

"Sammy?"

"They caught him in the act."

"This is not an asylum."

"Are you sure?"

"They're gonna give you a number

You gotta write the number down."

"Sad about Tommy wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Y'know, he used to come in here three or so times a week,

have his omelete, read the newspaper..."

"Yeah?"

"In fact he always sat just where you are sitting."

"I'd better move then."

"Ha ha!"

"No, you're ok. It doesn't matter where you're sittin'.

When your time is up, you gonna go."

"He he"

"Yeah"