These are the sorts of moody-snit things I write while I’m on the subway, and really aggravated about being on the subway. I grew up in the woods!

The miles go by with no markers
Except the flash of my window across them
And several million lanky people
Who I will never meet
Have the same facial expression
A little tired little distant
Think about somewhere else
A farm
The country highway
A place you could pick
Mushrooms from a ditch and
Bring them back home for supper.

They will mostly grab lighters
From the bodega on the corner
Stub out a cigarette with one heel
Drag their weary faces home
Listen to the train pass by out the window
Light the pilot on the stove
And turn on the evening news.

It amazes me night after night
That we aren’t better friends,
Given how long we’ve done this together.


I am squeezed like toothpaste.
I am a lemon being juiced
I am a pigeon’s body
I am without feathers
I am a hand with short-bitten nails.

I am not that fancy kid’s dreadlocks, and I am not his interesting accent.
I am a flat pillow on a bed.

Given enough time
I might be an empty canoe
on still black water
without very much noise at all.


I am not a dolphin.
Click click click
It would be a terrible thing
to see with sound in New York City,
because all you would see are
cars, trains, and anger.


Clearly I am missing a home
That I have not found yet.
Clearly I am missing
kind faces and jokes
I have not heard before.
Clearly I want for
a well-tuned guitar
which I cannot play
A book
I have not yet written
but which I will enjoy reading
while eating a snack.

One thought on “ Some moody poem drafts ”

  1. Your writing. So seriously excellent. Gotten very mature, seasoned, sophisticated, a little more restrained (in a good way). Love these.

    dr deborah bernstein warwick, new york (845) 986-6684 sent from my ipad, steve


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