metropolitan art

walking through the art. you can almost taste. the strokes of brush. the smell of paint. it is almost real.

pictures: Met Art

twin blind

the lady beside me. her fingers are numb. she is blind. like her son. fiddling with a spoon.

after a pause. she held my hand. and whispered in my ear. feeling my face. can you tell my little boy how the world looks? i pass a gulp. a silent twitch. okay, she says. feeling herself.

can you tell me what my son looks like? he is beautiful, i say. just like you, lady love. he looks just like you.

he left me when the child was born. who can deal with the twin blind, my boy?

she gasps. hold my hand, i say. my name is T. your love for love. is real Mrs. J. let us give purpose. to this race. one by one. the leaves. the shreds. i will give you the lens of truth. those eyes of mine. but how will i see, the beauty of your face?

them old times

the temple of love is white today. it has snowed all night all day. i am not a snow lover. by any means. but there is endearment in this home. and it makes me smile. even though i love novelty. i love walking down new streets. i love my familiar sites. the restaurant where i used to eat. the espresso bar where i cried. the book store where i thought of marriage. and sex. and vile addenda. and i love visiting them each time i visit the city. i skip a heart beat, but it is totally worth it!

take two

leaf upon love. this time. the garden of crowns is afloat on the sea. little lovers on the bay. they tear their souls. their finger nails. like poppy seeds. are painted with oil. dripping, like blood. there was a carnage. that november dusk. that broke my heart. that stabbed your smile. what tears we shed. over electricity and rhyme. the cradles on the farm were ablaze with sapphire. a cold deep whirling blue. spinning like a top. swirling and twirling. round and square. the gown of shapes. and pantaloons of scent. the whiff of dawn. a new tomorrow. those lights have dimmed. that synchrony. the lineage of time. we talked about. is frozen. re-thaw. reuse. recycle.

with the re...there is a pain. an anxiousness. like dolls in a doll house. the artifice of symmetry. resultant. superlative. where did you compare, till you took to the shrine? and shaved your womb. and ripped away the caricature of your nipple-tops. the hair on your skin. is awash in the floods. as you patiently wait. on the turn of the re. the magnificent re. chance two. the re of repeat. one. two. three. one. two. three. those tears have no meaning. dry. dead. rolled into a scoop of indolence. and disability. dis- ability. a-bility. what? you question. where did my pulse fade away that morn. that morn when we drove to the rainbow of necks. grazing past a gelatinous arch. with faces of doom. wake up. wake up. wake up my little pearl. you have lost your sheen. wake up little dove. let us fly with your wings. take two in your home. in your menagerie of lust. in your brasserie of thorns.

take two.

bean town

sometimes. you just smile. you just stand in one corner. and remember. the times you cried. you laughed. the moon you saw. every night. when you walked back home. thinking of life, and love and cold whims.

it feels like you are breathing again. it feels like home. and you embrace the walls. and breathe even more. faster each time. you want to feel this air. so smooth in your nose. you want to hold the breath. and break the vacuum that built for months. and you break down. overwhelmed with memories of home. you smile. collect your tears. and keep walking.

and the gentleman in his suit looks at you. a beautiful black neck tie greets your presence. questionable belongingness. but you shake hands. talk about life, about the footsteps in the city. the legacy of dreams and dominos. the bridge of hope and the children of fate are asleep tonight. in the city of angels. ringing. trilling. muttering like we used to before.

there is a home. this is a home. which makes you smile. and makes you believe. those lyrics are awake. it's time to play.