and the early morning from which it is inseparable
has been easily sorted in my mind’s category
as “pleasant” – no, “most pleasant” – of recent memory
[hopefully this at least is something you all can comprehend]
so now a great list is being made
for the one hailing from dallas
but also for those whose traverses are marked off by
the states Natural and Wolverine
thankyou.
I
oft-occurring, the happenstance
a request is made
to describe my Manhattan tenure
since the inquiry comes
clothed as social nicety
i often question
whether they’d really like to know
how five stories tall
can feel six feet deep.
“how was it?” [a question, quickened in pace]
“what was it like?” [a redaction of "g'day," i think]
there is almost no way to respond with haste [if justice is in clear view]. i want to pack up nine months of victory and grief [as it was] into two words, but the shape my breath takes is seldom substantial. recently, though, i have been able to abridge my account in a manner of which i was previously incapable:
painfully enriching.
II
i am new york
tired and weak
i try to write a book
each time i speak
if the explanatory endeavour is indeed explored [for what a lofty task it is!], its commentary must concern itself with the greatest irony of all:
despite its overbearing sonority [including but not limited to to aural perception], the most beautiful, important events of this city are those dwelling in subtlety. yes, the greatness of the buildings and the queer deeds and the noble arts are overshadowed by a phenomena that is never clearly rendered. mystery, not money, i think, is the life-blood of the place. although i hoped for, yet failed at a just description of my interaction on these terms, i am confident that lack of explanation does not necessitate lack of essence. here are those attempts, arranged by date:
1 pnuematology: there, i said it
2 as if i weren’t one of “them”
3 of suburbia and man
4 climate control, or, waste management
5 to be told where i’m left, or led
6 year in review
III
the space between 97th street and 94th St is a volatile expanse, elusive and silent. what better host for one’s darkest moments in person-hood? and what better margin for drowning?
remember:
sprinting, abashed, aloof, or, drawn-in.
man, my keys were always shaking [those producers of pitch-poor melodies]!
but, i grew into belief that atonality is the reality, and absent became the perspective that a plan or an ideal or a consituency or an appeal bore any consequence at all. but that musn’t be the case.
keys shaking.
boots clugging. [clug. clug.]
painfully enriching.
and partially conscious, i stumbled into the starbucks enveloped neatly in the place lanes abrams and mockingbird meet. there, i am known only by drink: the short blackeye [it is my experience that the 8oz cup size facilitates an unaparalled ration of espresso-to-drip]. every morning for the past week, this order cues the now worn-out barista inquiry, “who says dynamite can’t come in small packages, man?” and every morning i laugh at this clever sentiment and respond the same: “i sure don’t!”
since this day’s schedule-hastening required a quicker caffeine option i chose a doppio; a drink i typically like to reserve for the special post-dinner occasion. as i waited for my shots to be pulled, a cane-bearing, stoop-necked, browbeaten gentleman situated himself uncomfortably close to me, and the doting stare he initiated lasted a bit too long for comfort.
he swayed from my front to my side and back again, and at times the proximity was so great that i am certain he was sampling my scent. drawing all my energy from a well that is quite dry that early, i pretended to ignore his odd behavior. when silence became this situation’s last remaining merit, it was abruptly damaged.
“you must hear comments all the time about your eyes,” he said, boorishly, swooping in like a large, old crow. the muscles of his face shifted in a manner that a wink was probable, but i couldn’t see through the glare on his glasses.
“what do you mean?” i asked, still a little bewildered. i assumed they were a little bloodshot as a result of sleeplessness and allergies.
the cane-wielder replied, “they’re so … they’re so blue. they’re so beautiful.” immediately following these remarks he flashed a wide-toothed grin [a gesture which, ironically, was missing the "teeth" element].
part startled and increasingly gawky, i couldn’t help what fell out of my mouth. “ooorrotooooahhahaahhhhh,” i exclaimed-laughed-sighed.
four male near-bystanders coughed up a similarly uncomfortable chuckle as i made my way to the door, unable to procure anything more productive in response to the admirer. as i slid out i observed the remarkably light weight of my cup. in a bout of anxiety i must have inhaled the two [one-dollar] ounces while the events unfolded.
social apple + z would have served me well.