Monday, May 18, 2009: On the Street....Fourth St., NYC

The emerald city sprawls in the distance,
Frightening and majestic as a lion draped
Across a hillside, his territory.
You don’t belong here, you are trespassing,
And that’s why your heart gallops as you approach
The glass and glamour, this skyline that shimmers
As a cut crystal glass holding water, light.

Friday, May 15, 2009: On the Street…Walk in the Park, Paris

All paper is symbolic.
A document, a form, a letter:
Thoughts materialized.

Trees bear paper, not
Like fruit or blossoms. Alchemy
Yields paper, as I

Understand it. Pulp
Of pulverized splinters, thick as oatmeal
Is pressed into thin leaves,

Sheets, like something woven
And tossed on a bed, skimming a body,
Sleeping or almost asleep.

Thursday, May 14, 2009: On the Street…At the Café, Paris

Why The Matrix is Appealing

To plug into the world, this café, for instance,
As if it were technology.
The chocolate croissant and coffee love you back. Their sole
Purpose is to give you pleasure.
The menu beckons should you want more. Its luster
Invites touch, your hedonistic
Gaze. When you set it down, the print and prices fade.
They are unnecessary. For you,
As are the noise and numbers of this life, this living.
Since there is no other option, I often
See hands unpocket tiny phones, unravel white
Wires, with purpose, desperation,
And talk or listen immediately, furtively.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009: On the Street…The Designed Cover Up, Sydney

Against the white of my shoulder,
The sunburn blazes, ruby and angular
As the tiles of light thrown from
A stained glass window onto
The church’s slippery carpet.
In my synagogue, Chagall’s
Famed windows hang in black
Frames. This version is a copy
By the rabbi's wife. Their careful needlepoint
shows color and shape, figures
dancing, candles, horses, the moon.
And so we choose versions when retelling:
Glass for thread, white for garnet red.

Monday, May 11, 2009: On the Street….Vintage Coat, Sydney

Superheroes, Saturday morning cartoons,
wrestlers have less enthusiasm than you.

Pow! Zam! Kerchunk! Neon orange and green
spangled get-ups, flapping capes in primary colors,

geometric, voluminous speech bubbles cannot
compete. If someone were to draw us as cartoons,

I’d be the one with sigh in her thought bubble,
twin scribbles like quotations around the heart

and eyes to indicate: flutter, flutter, flutter.