Memorial Fence

I attempt to cross the George Washington Bridge by bike with a friend on a clear Memorial Day. We get separated along the way and I find myself off of a highway near the bridge carrying my bike up stairs littered with glass and shards of clothing. It’s an outdoor den for drug addicts and homeless people, troubled individuals a lot less fortunate.  A gated fence stops me from completing my ascent. I turn around and luckily find my friend, who guides me back to the bridge.

We cross on the way to New Jersey and pass another fence along the way designed to prevent jumpers from perishing into the Hudson River below. Suicide signs along the way beg the unstable and the desperate to reconsider.

Memorial Day is a day to think about loss and sacrifice. 

There’s life and risk and instability.

Soldiers live and die. Unfortunately, soldiers also kill themselves.

We live and die, but we try our best to live.

Most of us go on with our daily living never really reflecting on these issues.

We take our three day weekend when the official summer begins. We don our summer clothing and head out to barbeques and the beach.

We live life as we know it–always knew it, and very rarely stop to think about how we got there or where we may end up.

Memorial Day 2019: The Hudson River from the GW Bridge, mid-span

Remembering Terrific Tom

I was only a boy in ’69 but I idolized every moment. Terrific Tom was everything to me on the mound. The slow walk out to the mound, silted sand, fine like lunar dust with cleat marks and the hole behind the rubber, the white pinstripe uniform and royal blue sleeves extending from his broad… Continue Reading

My Fool

What is a fool if not a spindle of spool fueled with my tools, gummy, the gristle still green as if the high road, leapt into my sole mate   or whatever might have been good enough to sustain the switch onto the right track that spindle on the plantar surface of my appendage On… Continue Reading

Thoughts Prior to Dreams

I dream in blue I see proteins and flesh and bodies. I see crazy things. People running and shooting and radiating and I’m reminded of my Crayola confessions. Why would someone kill another over a crayon? Primo Levy had his elements. I tried that. I wrote about elements. I write about crayons. I have these… Continue Reading

I Remember Them

For me they arrived with bubble gum. To others they were the world. Heroes retain their value. Heroes I flipped them. Flipped them, admiring colors and uniforms, the stiffness of the card Sharp corners Men lost with talent, passionate men lost young Sometimes I lost my cards and I cried eventually replaced them with others… Continue Reading

On My Pediatrician

From the Writer’s Journal 5/16/83 I dream of my pediatrician, Dr. King. He sees me ten years after he has last given me a checkup. I am an adult, but Dr. King still cares about my health. He cares about my health because he has watched me grow.  He has seen me from just past… Continue Reading

Where is Yo Rupture?

Pressure down there. Inside wants out. Bulges eventually break through. It was Andy told me about this one. Saw man with an aneurysm die waiting in a parked car. He saw it happening up close I from afar and now, we see you with bulging membranes and ballooning arteries snaking from one year into the… Continue Reading

A Statue is Born

I see A Star is Born (http://www.astarisbornmovie.com) and read reviews. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/03/movies/a-star-is-born-review-lady-gaga-bradley-cooper.html There are analogies to Pygmalion, Ovid’s tale of the sculptor’s dream of a woman, his ivory creation coming to life.http://hompi.sogang.ac.kr/anthony/Classics/OvidPygmalion.htm Do we sculpt a dream or are they whimsical, random events? Our brain’s way of making sense of an insane world? We dream. We die.… Continue Reading

Drinks with Trump

I’m in the street in some strange city it might be in Mexico or the Midwest. There’s some kind of pedestrian race going on. They may be on scooters or something but they are in the street and there are still cars along the way, the kind of traffic with drivers who don’t know what… Continue Reading

An Imperfect Aphrodite

You are tired, my goddess Worn and eroded by goodness Blemishes only enhance your beauty   We weather together Though life erodes Love deepens   Now you have forgotten me Your empty orbits chiseled Limestone eroded by a sea foam of tears Your memories pulverized in smoking fissures Luminous through vacant spaces   We weather… Continue Reading