Posts Tagged ‘New York’

she calls me from
across the world
and even though
she is not here
I can feel her through
that digital signal
her voice makes me happy
her words elate me
and I am taken to another
plane of existence
I wish I could hold her
and tell her the things
I tell her online
or on the phone
I know she is real
and yet she is not there
the curse of the 21st century
better technology
better communication
but still missing that
indefinable human
and you know
what makes it all
worth it?
SHE makes it all
worth it
her love, her words
her spirit shines through
the cold satellites
and distant space
so even though the flesh
can’t touch
the spirit connects
on levels that are sublime
and hidden from the rest
my heart is yours
and you give yourself to me
a cosmic exchange

I love you

Long Distance Relationship by tsamba

Long Distance Relationship by tsamba

they are all down here
including these two
brother and sister
arguing over me
and my opinion

as I write this poem
they go back and forth
and it goes on and on
he defends me and
she calls me an asshole

as she stuffs her face
with a stuffed pepper
and spews her acid
against me

I can feel the hate
and it makes me smile

I am so special
that you get all
worked up about me

that you want to
waste your hate

right now people are dying
from governments and disease
from CIA plots and machinations
but I am above all that

I am special on your list
and you are nothing on mine

enjoy your drama, oh woman
live it out like the best
Maury episodes you’ve
seen on T.V.

I’ll still be sipping on my drink
and living life through
sugarcane eyes

and enjoying it

I sit here
at the laptop
sipping my rum
and coke

I think about her
and the things that
have been and the
things that can be

connections and
absomance by
a virtual means
and 21stcentury modes

digitized images
and imaginations
from a past
long, long gone

an alchemy of
the lost and the dead
of the real and unreal
and those in between

heaven and hell
are the remnants of
the stories we
were told as children

another sip, another
stroke of death’s hand
and I still laugh
at the cluster fuck of it all

the cuntpunchers
and the whoresuckers
the gone from here
and the now of there ahead

we ride and jam
into the great adventure
of no inhibitions
and jungle instinct

I will come to you soon,
my love

Rum and Coke Image Courtesy of

Rum and Coke Image Courtesy of

in the crack house
where I’d lived
was a guy
named Whiskey Joe
his room was on the
second floor
between a lesbian couple
and a crackhead
Whiskey Joe used to
try to spy on the lesbians
when they were having
sex and jerk off
he’d also get 5 dollar
blowjobs from the crackhead
next door
yep, Whiskey Joe
was a character alright
one time
he fought off 6 guys
from the projects
who were trying to
rob him
he fought them off
with a broken bottle
of old number 7
he didn’t have a job
but always had money
for drugs and booze
and was very adept
at ducking the landlord
at rent time
Whiskey Joe
was not only the
life of the party
but the savior
of a dead people
broken by society
here’s to you
Whiskey Joe


Crack User, South Bronx, New York Image Courtesy of  The New York Times

Crack User, South Bronx, New York  Image Courtesy of The New York Times




it’s been six months
since I last held
a job.

now here I am,
stumbling about
in the early morning.

there is a hangover
waging war in my
worn body.

the wind stirs the nausea
as the world spins
and clashes against my eyes.

I’ve vomited twice
and feel another
coming at any moment.

I am fragile in the

the train ride isn’t
any better.

swaying with people, perfume, cologne
newspapers, coffee.

I silently pray for
the train to crash
so this could all be over.

sudden death would be
preferable to the sickness
but I don’t get my wish.

I try to think about my woman
but the poison stops me
without any mercy.

I arrive in White Plains
and make my way
to the bookstore.

each step is a struggle
to stay alive.

no more, please.

let me just turn back
and lie down.

I make it to the store
and see the manager
for my training.

she is explaining
store procedures
and policy.

all I can hear is
my guts trying to
explode inside.

all I see is
a dead person
speaking words
that fall like death.

I am shifting
between worlds
reality and not,
heaven and hell.

first day of work.

another day of death.

we’ve been here
before and will
probably be here again.

until then…

Sisyphus by Titian (1549)

Sisyphus by Titian (1549)

I am very excited about this. I am a great fan of puzzle games and quite often play “escape the room” games on my phone. I think an interactive, real-life experience would be great fun. Fortunately, I live in New York and I will definitely be checking this out. I will post the review of my experience in the future. 

milk-death pours and powders over grey
and we are all waiting
for the train
a row of the tired and beaten.

an older guy next to me,

head down,
knees shaking,
hands wringing,
head bobbing.
words uttering.

“it ain’t right, man, ain’t right”
he says over and over, voice
drenched in the weakness and decay of

people walking back and forth.
muffled beats and garbled rhymes
arise and fade away.

“excuse me, buddy?”
the guy next to me asks, stopping
his mad ramble.

I put my book down and
look at him.

his eyes are glazed over
and tired, revealing
a slave to his addictions

“I’m sorry to bother ya,
but I’m in a bad situation here.
you see me and my buddy, we’re stuck.
we need to get to the city and we
lost our money…”

ah, this old line.
I’ve used it myself sometimes
when I was short for a bottle
or a bag.

I reach into my pocket and
produced 5 dollar bill.

before I handed it to him, I asked
“so what’s your deal?
I know your hand’s
been in the cookie jar.
what is it?”

“nothin’ man, I’m just stuck here…”

“oh, I know you are.”, I said as
I handed him the bill. his shaky hand
took it. my guess was PCP, dust.

“awww gawd my man,
I looove ya, man!” he exclaimed.
his eyes lit up at the site of
old Lincoln, who died once
already and had a few more to

he got up and nudged
his buddy, who was sitting
on the other side of an overflowing
garbage can.

his wool cap
had been pressed
down over his eyes
to keep all that fear out.

and the milk death.

as he pulled his wool
cap and eyes knowing
the fear show. eyes now forgetting fear
as old Lincoln is traded like
a slave from those days
of living myth as lies.

“hey, I love this guy!”
the guy who was sitting next
to me said.

“you don’t love him,”
his buddy, who was still
examining the bill said.

he looked over at me
as he handed the bill
back, “he don’t love ya,”

“just happy I could help,”
I said, lifting my book
to continue reading it.

“he don’t love ya,” then turning to
the other guy, the buddy said, “You
don’t love him.”

“yeah, I do!” the guy said, now
sort of doing some kind
of dust inspired jig. The White
Horse is riding wild tonight.

“you can’t say that to
people like that, just anybody,”
the buddy reprimanded.

“I looove him man!”
the guy exclaimed again.

“you can’t say that!
what if they don’t love
you? what if?”

“how long have we been

“4 hours.”

the jig continued as if the
devil were plucking
at banjos and our

one by one.

and the night wore on…

the other train came in
and more of the hive were
filling the halls and

steps, chatter
beats and the fear.

“hey, bum!”

the holler came from a
mass of down, plastic, and
melatonin blackened skin.
her face was twisted with
disgust holy indignation.

the guy didn’t hear the
derogatory summons. he was
looking at that 5 bucks and
arguing with his friend about
the virtues of loving a stranger.

“hey! bum!”

louder this time, more gusto.
the guy still didn’t hear but his
buddy noticed and started waving his
hand at him.

“Jim, hey Jim, the lady calling you
over there.”

Jim stopped his rant and looked over
at the lady that was calling him.
his eyes narrowed as they homed in
on the floppy, dirty thing that she held up
for him.

old Lincoln now had a twin waiting
for him.

the guy, Jim, ran over to the
woman and, more importantly,
to her money.

he snatched up the 5. He
began his jig again while dancing
with it and its twin.

“I Looove this woman,” he sang.
“thank you sooo much!”

I felt strangely forgotten.

“you’re welcome,” the woman said,
rolling her dead eyes.

“oh, thank you so much,” Jim slurred out
again. “I Love You, Baby!”

“okay, whatever, you have a blessed one,”
she said with nonchalant contempt.
this lady would have made a good
countess in pre-Revolutionary France.

“no but really, I loooove you,”
he said. “and you better believe
I got a blessed one.”

“you GOT a blessed one? Huh?” she asked.

I already knew where this was headed.

“oh yeah, baby, I got a blessed one alright,”
he said. “my dick is so holy it’ll
fuck you till salvation.”

“oh my GOD!”

“hey, I looove you, baby…”

“Jim! goddammit!” yelled his companion.

We all exploded in burst
of the rarest of moments
where tragedy
and comedy
play out like

mists in the dawn

of spring

all that comes

like all those
things we try
to struggle
with because
love was the

and victory
in that
the final

we were
in our laughter.

it was a good one.

the old chariot
of the suburb
damned pulled
up with its
familiar metro
purr and squelchy

slow slow hum
silver melt
into my smooth
smooth ride.

I check my things
all there, ticket in hand.

sweep now into
glory of
an old day

as Jim and his buddy
ride the wild white horse
while feeding the
dreams of devils
and liars.

and the angels will
pray to the
failing of
and us.

never saw those
two again

but I know we’d
all agree that night
was magic in
small surprises.

it was a good one.



A little too much partying.

Photo courtesy of