Spoken Lullaby (East 56th Street)

Time keeps ticking as
cars keep driving past my window as
girls keep laughing on my bed as
the playground on east 56th stays young.

But it’s not—there is no more
innocence unless you are talking
about that which lies in those little
shoes that come play by day.

Because then the bigger boys
come lean by night, they slap
palms in exchange of goods and
blood and they roll the dice to
what they would call in Rome “dogs”
but here with the good old boys it’s,
snake eyes peering up from the dirty concrete.

Time keeps ticking as
the suits straighten up their ties as
stories creep through my head as
I have had enough noise.

I climbed into my closet just to
be alone with myself for a while
so that the noise from her story, and
his story and hers too wouldn’t,
couldn’t keep chasing after me.

I fell asleep on the floor dreaming
a world of fantasies where I’m no
longer eating bowls of travesties—

but time keeps ticking as
the dice still rattle and peer as
the playground with the children,
the— blood,
the—good old boys,
those—snake eyes.

The exchange.

Time keeps ticking as
my voice spills out sweet and
I speak this lullaby about
east 56th street.

love letters

Sometimes pen scraping paper
sounds so harsh it has no soft
overtones, only dirty implications.

But this is a love letter that I write
with the best intentions and
thoughts worthy of good soap.

And there must be days where
you wonder if i am to full of
words to speak to you-

There must be days where you
follow my shadow through that
door and when it closes on your
foot, you good shoe, when I do
not answer the bell-

I cannot answer the bell because
it’s an elite society that only lets
the few through.

There is no room at the
table for both me and you.

But I love you.
Really, I do.