Post the Twenty Eighth


Being a Local in New York City is
a relatively unheard of concept
that nearly every resident strives for.

To be recognized among millions,
and remembered for longevity in a neighborhood
is something that is difficult to achieve.

Especially people like me, who,
in their first four years of living here
moved 14 times in total, through every borough.

But I achieved it in one part of Brooklyn
and I’m so thankful for the family that that brings
to be a Local means you belong there.



Post the Twenty Sixth


I make the monkeys clap
until all that remains is the echo
of intention. Swollen cymbal fingers
broken at the knuckles.

Little marsupials try to touch
me. I am the music from their masters
box. They think they hear me even when
the cranking stops.

Over-sized castanets fall with
laughter as the monkey jumps, thinking
the throat of their patron is mine.
Another job lost
because the Illusion can’t be killed.