Returning after some time....

For my first post in a few years--work and graduate school will do that to you--I'll write a thought I had after glimpsing the moon just beyond the lip of my apartment building, looking up from the desolate courtyard.

Something having to do with the futility of looking for stars beyond the immediate presence of our lamps' light.

Something concerning a simultaneous disgust for the city's inability to host the same nightskies plains and forests appreciate and wonder for our ability to harness light, any light, all light, the light the color of sunrise and home.

And a question about how many other New Yorkers ever look up?

 How many other New Yorkers miss looking up and seeing something as much as I do?

New New Yorker II

Literature was before us,
Sex is between us,
New York is around us.

Take this essay,
those poems,
these blank pages

to know your new home
and love it like me,
New New Yorker.

To ooze and writhe,
I between your legs,
eyes between poetry.

To explore the
anything and everything of
your thoughs, your life, your All.

New New Yorker

New New York Yorker:
Hold your own sweet coast
sunkissed hissings before kissing
wakes you from dreaming of home.

And once awake, see humdrum
rainfall clouds call to say
"Stay in and sleep; know these
streets beneath later." You will.

You'll see them then in the sunrise
glow of streetlamps glisten listening
to your flat state fast pace and telling
you to jump and twirl and crack the flat
with ecstasies and yawps of Here! Now!
The subtlest glamor you've known.

So many arms reaching So high.
Your Manhattan. Your skyline. Your Home.

A. S. II

We walked out of Union
Square Park where we had

solidified our Us from a
muck to a mold, am ambivalence

thick with question to a concrete
asserted; irrational, selfish, temeritous.

Swooning smoothing soothing wooing
glances and gapes mouths moist ahhing

in bedsheet laughter in coy epigrams
in kisses more delicate than those I gave

my first love. But this is lust.
"I'm so wet" she wrote a block away

cabbed. I read it there aired and
smiled confidence, anticipation

from her subtley stroked pubis stoked
by my backhand while waiting.

And I too rode home saturated in this
present that decision her Her.

Pleated once with hesitation and now
a girl unfurled in a Haley decision

that will work our nerves and needs
overtime with our greatest will.

A.S. I

You listened to my wise
gibberish without question,

and nodded adoringly as we
discussed how you fell against

your will into normalcy.
Calmed your spirits. Hushed your tones.

And I suppose that quiet Quiet
broke the reservations you had

with fidelity into learning
the science of sin. With a cool me.

Because in the foggy gloss
of "Casablanca's" chromatic darkness

your eyes became snapshots of
Ilsa's, flashglances subliminal under

twentyfourframespersecond. But
they were there, glazed in the tremble

of our chemistryecstasy, a curious smile
whipping episodically in my periphery.

And then your fingers became spiders
and I delighted in the leggy caress

expressed unexpected. Wanted.
Desired. From Day One.

And your Daddy Long Legs
grew into biting Tarantulas hungry,

seizing my stillness, my wary thighs,
in the midst of its meditation:

Who are you and why me? What is this?
Should I respond? Sit statuesque?

Stand, stand against? But then my
hand snaked into your lap, a jaw opened

to grip you and say "I know. Me too.
But you must be patient."

The drizzly midtown midnight
mist did not deter discussion of

anticipations and bodies to come.