January 9, 2010

From the Ice House

snowdusted Brooklyn cold under a quarter-waning moon...a million ice crystals like twinkly stars on sidewalk...fumbly-stumbly with keys thru dark cellar for furnace switch...two cats waiting at my door to meet the first heat after Friday taxi feeding frenzy...taxis like yellow sharks closing on shivering Manhattanites hailing cabs... half-drunk arrogant aggressive and proud of what?

the hottest places in town are in the meat-packing district...coked-out businessmen with dolled-up fancy women most of them whores of one sort or another...thousand-dollar tips to get in...to be seen there...to have been there...then back to some high-paying slave job of one kind or another feeling powerful and important...they actually think they have it all under control...their bank accounts prove it.

I have this failed life problem obsessing me...if you don't know what I mean there's no use telling you.

it's like hunting a contact lens on the beach...it's gone face it...be grateful you still have an eye to die with.

drooping exhausted over the keyboard...writing words for the unknown Swede who's reading me...or is she unknown?...I got readers from all over the world...don't know how they found their way here...they read me from England & Pulau Pinang...Canada & Antarctica...Berlin & Paris...Dubai & Pakistan...Mexico & China...Israel & Lebanon...Houston & Rochester...Afghanistan & Turkey...India & Brazil...Butuan & Geldenland...Italy & Brezovica...Mountain View & New Orleans...I wonder who they are? Is there a sister in the bunch? A friend? A lover? A soulmate? I wish she would come forth and spend time on me...I got the consequences of this obsession to face alone as usual...is there anybody out there?

no? what a surprise.

they're only reading.

i'm only writing.

2 comments:

Ann said...

I am not just reading. I change when i read. I change when I write

Anonymous said...

As long as you write...there will be somebody reading...so keep writing and I'll keep reading from Houston..

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