New York Poem

I was feeling like the guy
who walks up and down my street
pausing on the corners
eyes to the ground
not knowing which way to turn

when a security guard
off-duty State Transit Authority
tapped me on the shoulder
eyes alight with bourbon
voice crackling like fire
fingers stained with nicotine
brow wet with September sweat

we shook clammy hands
he shared some pleasantries
my nervousness dissipating just a little
as he lurched away with a halfhearted wave
brown paper bag and bottle

down the block
the streetwise black kids
practiced lazy breakdance moves
in their casual tracksuits
a hip-hop crew of hoodlum dudes
doing a pretty good job at
coming across as menacing
which worked fine on me
the out of town foreign tourist
with the wrong white accent
and the backpack a dead cert giveaway
so too the crumpled map

better grab some food quick
before my all-night bus to New York city

Niagara Falls was awesome btw
looking over the edge
wondering what would it be like
to go over it in a barrel?

instead the bus had taken me over
the Peace Bridge into Buffalo
into the U. S. of A.
and I had cleared customs with ease
surprising considering the way I looked
and smelt

I used a $50 bill at a burger bar
bought food and soda for the journey
dumped my bag in the luggage compartment
almost fell off the bus steps
when this drunk guy pushed past me
offering to sell gold chains and smokes
on the way

I was leaving on the 9pm
ETA at NYC approximately 8.10am
arrived tired and disorientated
phoned Adam’s sister from a call box
who vented her annoyance at being woken up
and no she couldn’t put me up
and would I please fuck off
the phone line going dead

I bought myself a pair of moccasin ankle boots
from the Native American Tourist Shop at 8.30am
twenty three dollars and seventy nine cents after tax
decided to hole up in The Sloane House YMCA
on West 34th Street
in hindsight not the best of choices
but it got me out of the rain

my room was a cell in what appeared to be
a lunatic asylum for dropouts
freaks and lost travellers like me
turned out it was the largest residential YMCA in the USA
which explained all the nutters
didn’t dare use the communal showers

but man
the view from the top of the Empire State
was jaw-dropping
despite my camera not working
and the man with the warts all around his eyes
pressed tight up against the telescope
his wife clutching at his side

New York City – imagine that!
Tell me, what’s it like to be a skateboard punk rocker?
I borrowed those lines from Michelle Shocked
Wow, New York, just like I pictured it
Skyscrapers and everything

and I borrowed those from Stevie Wonder

WORLD TRADE CENTRE
BROOKLYN & HARLEM
STATUE OF LIBERTY
CENTRAL PARK
MANHATTAN

THE BRIDGES
THE RIVERS
THE DOCKS
THE YELLOW TAXIS IN THE STREETS

grand canyons
monument valleys
next stop FLA

all of which of course
means nothing much to anyone
except perhaps a younger me
who no longer exists
or recognises himself
in a mirror

 

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Route 66 Revisited

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/finite/

Here is the original photograph taken through the back window of an old car that has been placed at the side of the road in the Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona where the course of the original Route 66 is marked by the old poles, the newer highway beyond.

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and here is the car, a 1932 Studebaker (photo courtesy of the National Park Services)

Rt66

Swipe (v.9.7.16)

Phish Michael the chieftaincy nighthawk

Michael the buffalo finisher

with easygoing visitations

sublisting coastal ziggurats

oboist nights twinkle

Katydid bigger than Chadwick

unfussy

cherishing Icterus

kick-starting her nightreading

omnibuse universes inviting curtsies

punctuating the nightfall

the modern costar occurs finished

united under that effigy’s OS

Nah, the burgers are underwear

an omnibuse phaser nightdress

Gustaf hurrahs

reserves the cistern eduction

universes omnibuses

omnibuses nightdress

Willamette allows sleep boosting

undresses w increases

nightdress nightdress bursty omnibuses which birds nightdress omnibuses omnibuses backfire

his majesty McCurdy

musicians object to such under I’ve nursed

judged judged

hey all, get such CB in Utah

Hugh’s scything knife

SD, try to kings week DJ

DJ, Sergio’s wasteful wasteful lights

think Erich Onyx’s wiring

huge RD lighter

a further grudge fight

dryer high VHF

weigh the oiling search

hugging deduct stfu innings

so just offset

it’s hurrah

jai

hairy idiot

ST, just UDF disturb gf

VH, the Irish dished

disused didn’t audit gig

did f Irish

rudish did

 

It came to me Zach Crusoe

kewpies and turkeys

wirebirds and bonesteel

trunk full of white rabbits

a young buck strapped across the hood

head full of bourbon and Mystique

head on full kilter ramrod

lodged milktooth scratching mosquito bites

rancid Vermilion Juice

 

seventy five eighty

Pump it up !!

Pump it up !!

 

Omnibuse Nightdress v.9.7.16

img_20160826_100235

fever trail

his fever followed you everywhere

hot sweating on your scented trail
along the dried up gulches and riverbeds
between haze stolen mountains and eagle nests
down wild beast trails through river forests

hunting     grasping     future fishing
hurling vapid words into cliffside caverns
watching     waiting     they fall into silence

aborted echoes of long remembered dreams
fractured     splintered     headshot through
like every buffalo slaughtered on every prairie
like every severed horn piled high for the hunter’s glory

the shattered highway cuts through the turgid night
bisected by your starlit brilliance
two-fingered by your opened-leg malevolence
photographed     pornographed     thermographed

always hoping to catch and blind poker you
shackled     bound     all to his famished self
a wild dog gnashing ripping flesh from bone
stalked     snatched     blood-dripped sand

gloating over his prized possession
his hand smothers your gaping mouth
howls vent and scorn over your battered body
dissolving in a muddied pool of stagnated fury

he gasps     chokes back the grief     turns
follows his fevered trail everywhere
sweating your scented temptation

poisoned without you
poisoned with you
poisoned in you
poisoned you

reward

(playing with imagery, mixing up the here and now with the bruised and burnished past, battlefields and seared landscapes, scars and shallow graves – nothing is sacred or lost).