Monday, December 31, 2012

Goodbye 2012

When the ball drops.
The year dies.
We remain.
All staring at the start.

10.  Ready.
9.    set.
8.    remember.
7.    reflect.
6.    breathe.
5.    look.
4.    hold.
3.    grin.
2.    live.
1.    go.

boom.  It’s a new year.

In that instant of innocence we all stand silently among the screaming crowds. Eyes up, smile out. We hold our drinks and suspend ourselves in a momentary peace.  A fleeting millisecond of unavoidable joy.  A flash of pure beginning. The freshest breath of the winter.

Nobody ever mourns the passing year.
New ones are just too bright.
Too beautiful.
Too big. 

Saturday, December 8, 2012


Writing is my art.  It’s my design.  It’s my carpentry.  It’s my song. 
It’s what I am on paper.
Like a mirror for my mind
My dreams stare me in the eye,
My thoughts look through me
They know me
They are me.

I can’t hide who comes out of my fingers
I can’t deny the feelings that fall on the keys
I can’t be more honest than when im here,
In my own head
Where no one can see me.

Some of the things I find here are beautiful.
They don’t deserve dusty demises
They too should taste light,
I owe them that much.

That’s why I write.

To give life to what makes mine sweet.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

A Storm in July.

It was a humid 100 today and then it poured. The ominous dark weight of the entire sky collapsed and the heavens came rolling out in droves of wind and war.  Chaos. 

Empty concrete streets lay helpless as they drowned in rivers of insanity. The marbled hail crashing through the foggy currents breaking their heavy-handed flows as they rolls past crowded drains.  The steady pour beat down on the earth as wind swept waves of rain stumbled down avenues, leaving their mess and never looking back. Bowling ball claps of thunder, strobe like lightning, everybody stopped.

The office windows stretching to a clouded infinity filled with spectators. I could see their silent silhouettes whispering their pities to one another.  They saw our shaken souls standing soaked under the dry side of a awning waiting for the waterfall to loose its liquid legs.  We were trapped.

But not trapped in the damp cloak of sorrow or worry, but surrounded by the surprised faces of misplaces strangers, humbled by the power of the world New Yorkers often ignore.  We stood four deep under that awing, each with a different destination and but the same wet story.  We laughed, we smiled we shared a front row seat to the only show in town.

The rain came so fast it didn’t even sound like rain.  Instead white noise fell over the endless grey sidewalks. In that moment the world changed channel, flipped frequencies and I found a breath of peace. I found a comfortable feeling of serenity as my heels hugged that dry bodegas wall. The cold cotton of my shirt clung to my spine and I felt freed.  Somewhere out there lost in this madness someone is falling in love.  Someone like me is hiding under an awning like this and he’s met the girl of his dreams.

The squalls of the season were lined with fate.  I could taste it on my tongue.  There are a million corners in this empty city, a million dry places, but they found one and they found each other.  And even in the relentless dark of the storm they found light.  They found the heat of a beating heart outpacing the song of the beating rain. 

They were out there staring into each other’s certain eyes, their minds as clear as the far side of the sky.  The storm roared in applause and poured with praise. 

Fate falls like summer hail, magically swift and beautifully unexpected.  Today the clouds brought more than rain.