February 22, 2013

beyond old Troy NY...

Source: Norman Rockwell Museum Digital Collection. Copyright 2011 NRELC

the Italian barber Norman Rockwell went to

I am wrapped in a neck clasped cloth
I am in a spun porcelain and leather chair
while I wait my turn, I look out the window and
see an orange Japanese drifter car with aftermarket
plastic dampening and side packaging
careen down the street

this street is filled with summertime
as the bipedal binary systems
of blood and bone hone an edge water
reasoning onto concrete mangrove roots
that appear like fingers growing out
of buildings steeped in a tidal river's history

I sit on someone’s front stoop
I linger with a beer and my fresh shave
the smell of clean just a few doors away
there is piano music wafting from a flat nearby
Bill Evans I believe, it helps me punch the keys
of this portable typewriter with closed eye ease
it is an old Underwood Standard
heavy as my heart sometimes
but it just as worn and bent as I
ready to strike hammer wings onto paper
stringing words like songs water sings

most of my humanity is locked up in freewill and
needs to bleed uncertainty and regard together
I only pray these days that I may come to know
eternity can be illustrated in a moment to moment basis
some pieces of a stolen past, that I can carry back
to the black white days when cars did not have
much plastic at all, and color was all painted in imagination


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