I have to tell you, the past couple of weeks I have felt some kinda weary, woe-begotten and a midnight shade of blue. I have, though, in this time, picked up the journal in a deliberate effort to turn to something. As always, without fail, it's helped. (I mean I really don't know why I just don't stick to it ... but then my self-sabotaging self would get really bored I guess and what fun would that be? I'd be left unable to play the victim - not in the Lifetime movie sense, though, but in the "ain't no pity party without the pity" sense.)
At times like these it's great to have a job that sucks well enough to require your time but not your rapt attention. This way the mind gets to wander, and on pieces of receipt and scratch paper you can write stuff like:
W is for Wednesday & woe:
What do you do when you feel as weary
as I do?
As lost?
As tired of thinking as you can be?
Where do you turn
when you're certain that you've been
meandering
in circles
arriving, returning
to the same places
where you're certain
you've already been?
Okay, Wednesday. Not one of my most enjoyable days at work, so I came up with this:
R-epetitive
E-nterprising
T-edious
A-ssinine
I-nquiries
L-anguish my creative spirit
Moving on though.
Found in "The New Yorker" journal of mine:
Haiku: "S" reflections in a subway car from summer in New York
the smell of hot piss
seeps through searing my senses
as the summer sweats.
City Light
So many lights blinking I think there's a light for every dream
Flashing on - bright
Can you see me?
Like the fresh face that steps
off some train,
out of some cab,
off some plane.
Flicking off - dark
How can I see in this dark?
Like those whose dreams
deferred and died
decimated by yet another light
in Times Square.
* * * * * * *
when you're alone in the city in
the spring time
or in
the fall it looks -
it really looks -
like you may be the
last person
on earth.
your palms face your thighs.
they do not face frontwards or backwards
as there is no other hand to be caught
(or to catch yours).
there is only air. and who can catch air?
on sidewalks couples
(or their strollers)
they overtake you
so many times
that there are sure to be times
when you will stay your course
and play "chicken"
daring to make them part -
their red sea
of love.
you
are
moses. locked jaw and forward gleaming eyes are your rod and staff.
for a split second you will be
single - solitary -
the wedge that threatens to tear them apart.
sometimes you will win.
they'll uncouple long enough to glide around you -
divide and conquer.
(when you are short like me, they'll
"london bridge" you
raising their arms to let you tug on by.)
sometimes you will be the chicken
sidestepping out of deference unable to dare breaking through
their firmly held hands,
their tightly linked arms.
no one asks red rover to come over
anymore.
but mostly in the spring and in the fall you will find
that no matter the battle waged on city sidewalks
love will surround you,
glide by you,
bump you to and fro -
it will
single
you out.
and your hands
will naturally turn
reaching
for someone
who is not
there.
feel that air
and hope,
but remember that maybe
it is best instead always to wear pockets.