Lines
Catching a lucky bus up Third Avenue, the blue of the morn hasn’t even been born and I think I catch a glimpse of you sleeping, New York. As I cross the street and round the corner I crash through drunken pigeons who coo and flutter about, making quite the fanfare of my walk’s commencement.
Like the sun’s morning trail, I stalk westward down the street, she takes the high road while I stay on my feet. And before I know it, there’s a coffee in my hand and a bagel from the man’s stand on the west-hand side of Park and 31st. My last two dollars slide in and out of daylight while my bag gets heavier and I have breakfast to look forward to later.
I walk and strum along to some new song, deep within my heart, but I can’t make out the words just yet and I can’t quite seem to start. The city is now alive and I picnic south of Madison Square Garden. The spire of the building of The Empire State points way up to the heavens and I see the Pearly Gates. I see my Grandma walking along the avenues of Manhattan, and crossing town with the delicate footwork of a featherweight fighter, but the tenderness and vocal aesthetics of something more beautiful and lighter. She clenches her pocketbook closely to her side and she only turns around when she’s stopped on the corner to double check her grandson is still by her side. A smile cracks on my face.
Yes I am leaving today but I’ll be back soon, for an audition or two and certainly to swoon. For there’s a few more days of holiday left and much work to be done before my next project. There’s a fire in my stomach while my hand’s receive no warmth, I gotta hold on or they’ll just freeze out here. What if I let go? Not to flail aimlessly or to hurt somebody, but to catch anything to come to catch anything that goes; to be ready for what’s ahead, nobody ever knows. I let go of my bags and I settle back in my seat, I take a deep breath stretching my crown to my feet, I’m near the back of this sleek black bus and I’m surprisingly not very tired.
So, New York, I day dream a bit, wishing I was still asleep with you. But I doubt you closed your eyes as I feel like I couldn’t either last night, we both watched for the moon vainly hoping to capture her for ourselves, to keep the night going to keep the day at bay. But the dawn did break and she got away again. Someone must have tipped her off. It’s alright, because I’m ready.
Smoke from stacks just south of Hackensack, dissipates and imitates their darker grey rivals, who hold black briefcases of diamonds and burning rain. But before they sink off into nothing, they collect and connect into large amorphous mountain ranges suspended in the air, almost proud to be birthed pumping hard through the crystaline, the morning’s chill puts up a fight and they collide in a ball of smoke, like in a cartoon battle royale. A fire breathing dragon slowly emerges from the war-cloud-conglomerate, sliding towards her prey, opening her mouth and angling her head in just the right way (like when going in for a kiss) but this dragon’s kiss reaches beyond fatal longings and she seems to take a breath to prepare herself for the devour.. and she dissapears. Just like that. Scales fangs and all. But something tells me dragons don’t disappear that easily.
The sun bleeds through a thickly blanketed morning sky, and a simple sphere of the entire sprectrum comes aglow behind the wash of white and grey.
Streaks of grey with rectangular patches of celeste,
Streets of grey and black painted all the rest..
Centurion Gents made of Cement reach up to the sky
With the help of steel and fire I wonder how they’d fly..
The bare trees silohuetted against the white hot sky look like upside down lungs in an xray negative, while the Evergreens seem to play in and out vew.
Every once in a while.
On the road. Again.
But moving forward all the while..
Posted by Michael Sazonov on January 22nd, 2010 at 9:10 am