44 exits

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The River cuts the cities leaving a cain and abel split, an obvious game of swords and an obvious winner in a competition inside a house 'a house divided cannot stand' and there they stand; one loved, the other sputtering smokes and fumes, bleeding eighteen wheelers and oil spills, acid dirt, little shops, promenades, red-zoned townships... disaster since the very inception... these high rise ant hills I'll never know thank the lord.

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PD search copper chopper drumming by in the airspace

We paddled up the Nissequogue/A river I never knew

First, the brushing windswept whisper of the reed grass

calls from piping plover, mute swan, canada goose

waters dribbling from nearby drop-offs

Second, the distant bombardment of the bashing of the airspace

four-pronged, mallets, circularly molesting the airspace.

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She said she feared the depths. The amount of the water rather than the water, itself. That, and the fear of the unknown. Creatures, monsters we do not yet know. Colors we have not yet seen and (guess it) sounds we have not yet heard (so forth). To know the strokes and stay afloat... skill. To dive and swim and stay... a reminder of what most of us no longer carry.

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Clay Banks...

Washing our limbs by the mouth of the river by the bluff. Salty lips, mineral tangled hair. We helped her throw the kayak back on her trailer.

"Thanks for the experience."

"Don't mention it. This is something that's good for the body, good for the mind, and most important, good for the soul."

"I say yes." ... "Thank you again."

"Have a nice life."

Have a nice life.

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Why the aboves? and why the belows?

Sleep, a need, a third of life, I urge now and think it well. I urge and the mind functions simply and purposefully. I must eat when I wake. I must drink sometime throughout the night/the early morning. I must release my waste into the earth. I must keep my quarters neat and sanitary. I must love and be loved. I must create more life and I must leave paint on some cave wall. See? The plainest and most trustworthy of thoughts. Life urges. A checklist.

What plagues in between? What difference?

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I smiled to the band of Hispanics, a family, enjoying the pride of their corner store. Well- earned and empanadas. The men sang with guitars ancient flamencos. The women laughed and laughed and cried, smiling eyes. They encouraged the scene and were enjoying the calm of the summer night. I smiled and smiled to the ladies and men and showed them my peace.

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The birds chirp senseless rhythms.

We were once kids. Bellies full and dirty knees. Pajamas and innocent t.v. Now the generation sinks and screams and drowns and recklessly regresses. We are the fuel for the machine. Soon to be powering no more.

The laughter is nothing. The conversations are nothing. The bellows are nothing. The grunts and the singsongs are nothing. The chants and moans are nothing. The coughs and the cackles are nothing. The jokes are nothing. The life is nothing... The life beneath our sleeping windows when innocence struggles for rest is nothing.

The birds also chirp senseless rhythms.

My feet scanned the avenue during the evening. I walked higher than the street lamps. I spoke for the passerbys with regret. They know nothing of me as I of them. I floated on my podium like a hellghost bound to their shackles. They spoke when I spoke for them and I am ignorant and ashamed.

The chirping is senseless.

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