Newsstand

5th Avenue, Midnight

Union Square Station, Midnight

Wretched Refuse?

Walking down the lonely late night street, I stopped to photograph an old, abandoned air conditioner. Moving around it looking for the best angle, I did a double take as I noticed a man asleep in the background.

It was hot today! And then there were ... bubbles!

The New Lighting

ng Place Pete's Tavern

serialized breathing

serialized breathing
comforting in the minds of fools
examining the moon
in a breath betraying
an ultimate faith
in good and evil alone
able to justify itself
trying endlessly
to array against
the crimes of sorrow
and waste of life
crumbling together as we fall
afraid unhoping trust
cords around the arms
of valor accepting
the crust of dreams
uncivilized horror
trembling

New York Burns/LES Sunday Afternoon

There's No Place LIke Mars

Why We Fight

He went outside, determined not to let the rain make a hermit of him. The streets were all urgent motion, a mass of organisms pushing, coursing, at times appearing to become something collective, yet each carrying a life’s full of memories and dreams which, inexpressible, sulked unseen beneath opaque faces.
A soft rain fell. Rain was the normal state of things here, it appeared. If the sun peeked out, it was like a spotlight, burning fiery red, then quickly, gratefully?, disappearing behind the clouds once more. Earth was more a foreign world to him now than Mars.
He sat gazing out the café window, trying to maintain some of the sanity of the stranger. Outside, a woman pulled down her pants and pissed in the middle of the sidewalk before calmly reseating herself. No one seemed particularly to notice. Was this how it was here now? He finished his coffee in a strange mood, melancholy and amused. The wind picked up, umbrellas pushed to their limits. Trees switched around as if engaged in some sort of tropical dance with the gusting breeze. Yet, somehow he remained untouched by it all. A young girl struggled by in the rain, the ass of her powder blue sweat pants emblazoned with the word pink, written in green. (Had Surrealism won? Or was this just more evidence that Earth was too absurd to make sense of its own absurdity.)

Youth Gone Rotten?

When once youth becomes lost, it remains so forever.
Truth comes too late, and wisdom is for the dogs.
It sings out to you, youth, yet always stays beyond
Your straining grasp.
It is laughter and memory, and a moment out of time.
It tempts but will not suffer
The failings of age.
And why in hell would it, after all.
It holds in its hand, its pretty little hand,
All that you regret.
Youth renders all that useless wisdom into foolishness,
With a sweep of its hair and a smile.

Invocation

All that’s real is what lies in the space between us
The flowing interaction of our feelings for each other
Whether transient or eternal
Invisible yet tangible
We know ourselves by our relationships with those who’ve touched us.