dimanche 18 décembre 2011

The last letter

The last letter

Nobody thought is was coming yet here it is:

The last languid though heartfelt letter to be

Inked on this piece of paper.

The postal service is gone, kaput, au revoir

And the only way to deliver a letter today is to do it


Mailmen went from endangered species to

Extinct (throwing a raw steak at them now is too late)

Yet for some memories they still cross the blocks;

Whistle in the snow and ease a smile

“Junk mail or not here it is.”

Think this: during the WWI trench warfare

Young men knocked and shocked with feet

Rotting in cold mud

Had the written word to hold on to; be it theirs

Or from some beloved

Stamped, dated, watermarked

It was in the hand or a pocket or helmet

Warming the spirit like a coal furnace.

If war is an argument for letters then let

Us keep warring;

Ripping young brave hearts

So to build the right environment

to bleed some ink

If today we ignore any need

To flag an emotion on a support other than


Then we have flattened our landscape;

Taken the roll out of rivers;

Removed the rumble of avalanches;

Unboomed the sonic boom and

Unpopped the child’s floating bubble.

And stamped out our last tangible history

Personal, unviral, grandiose.

mercredi 24 août 2011

A Kiss Affair

August 11, 2011

Flatbush and Atlantic Avenue

22nd floor near the Watchtower

It’s 6pm

The call for prayer intermingles with

Tom Carvel’s call for soft ice cream

2 Presidential copters scream over the horizon and

Air molecules containing 76% humidity bounce off

Manhattan walls

In a new fangled apartment a space age compost contraption

Foments trashy fermentation as

DSK rests in Tribeca awaiting his infamous trail

High above the Brooklyn chatter

Above the swapping of credit cards and

Chiropractoring of sore bones

Our friend’s black l8 pound virus-infected

Turkey-like cat

Sneezes projecting a white tender booger 32 inches

That makes a splash in the inflatable Jacuzzi

We watch it disappear under the bubbles

This is a time warp of long lost friends:

We sip on cold cocktails

And catch up on bygone follies over the years

As if not a minute had transpired.

*Kiss or kici in Hungarian means small.