Duncan's Falcon In Flight

Duncan's Falcon In Flight

a shrouded falcon waits to fly with a disciplined anticipation

every muscle and tendon taught as suspension wires

that hold the golden gate aloft above the entrance to the bay

the falcon sees no perspective from its cloaked darkness

it plays out turns in the sky as it closes on the prey

to seek the acceptance of its master

trained for this in daily regimen

given praising rewards for its prowess

it gathers strength from each motion

it holds its head up, alert and waiting

for ultimate perspective to be revealed

birds of the sky flee in fear of its talons

sharpened black pointed differences

admonished for overzealous maneuvers

against the master's arm that holds it high

tethered to a master's hold on the falconer's rest

a beautiful bird of prey waiting to behold its own magnificence

turning circles and dives and aerial twists in its minds keen eye

free falling in dives as it moves and glides and soars after its mark

the sparrow the lark the pigeon the canary the crow the starling

all know that the falcon's shadow is a fearful sight on any day of flight

they may even have unsettled dreams of its menace as shivering chicks

set upon by the fatal talons in its last moment before jarring awake

stirring into the reality that the falcon that is trained to satiate

for the reward of pride and nourishment is the most deadly ending

to the simple traces of a birds life of worm and seed fed neutrality

the falcon soars above the admonishments of birds against it

the falcon relishes opportunity to prove itself in any manner

dressed in hood and tether it stretches its gilded shiny wings

as the hood is removed it preens in a new love before it sets

for a new attack with the heart beating in the chest so fast so heavy

this is the chance that it has been hatched from desire for so long ago

this eternal falcon that has always wanted to please its mother

that has always wanted to protect its lands from skies to low valleys

that has always sought to end the admonishment of father and siblings

wanting to rightfully fly its mission on sharpened turns of valiant wings

it flies forth out of darkness into light that it has never known until now

a light it has only seen in dreams of days it hoped for above green fields

spiraling through the skies for freedom to serve its holy master, love

How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You

How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You

bombs killed the anarchist fishmongers

who wanted to organize something

under the colonial paving stones

that were europa too young

to walk on their own legs

in immigrant clothes

naked in the cold

in a hundred years or more

undocumented workers would smoke blunts

in the bathroom for the top o the world

while the world traded possibilities

under the towering gaze of twin

free market standing sentinels

as if it was impervious to its own

limited liability denial

that looked down

on all the mobs

of impetuous

trump hopefuls

trolling in and out

of all the subway platforms

at the clay feet of a commercial high rising upward

so many ghosts hit the skids that day

running away from the zeroed out ground

as fast as the wind could blow them out

running through Chinatown and SoHo

all the way up to the alphabets of Loisaida

the old park is a walk from gershwin's stoop

up around the corner from the 2nd ave deli

past st. marks where corso slips a dollar in

pulls it out past the square for fair on the L

going back to brooklyn in the morning

     o gregorio     o gregorio 

o we see so clearly now, only too late

the bomb came for us as we were warned

by the cloak of poems that gave us cover

only for so long as those words could

everyone gazed upward

toward the morning sun

with national camera eyesight

as we all looked on in unexplainable surprise  

still life with an ash tray in a diner that no longer smokes

roll past graham through ghosts that have become hipster bubble gum flavor assortments giving away all potential to the dive that overcharges and artistically under performs, still, everyone is a critic when the world is less critical when the mass is less critical when it is less complicated when it is all just a puzzle with an easy piece missing in action so the chatter goes all night long in a clinky clank of cocktail glasses that must be avoided at all costs after the latest rent increase

     catch the car service to bushwick and metropolitan into the lost world of thievery gone co-op

make a get away to flatbush all the way up to church and breath deep the jerk sauce aroma

where dutch became dutchie in a reformed church cemetary blowing sound blowing minds blowing blowing blowing

make a get away to the coney island that is no longer a dream or a nightmare just the last refuge of goons, gumbahs and mermaids on the lost boardwalk running like a comet with a splintered tail where the ghosts of your first tattooed ladies ride horses off of diving boards into the pooled tear drops of elephant palace memories that once held cheers for bums dodging trolley cars out into far rockaway and back on a lonesome plane ride off into sunshine away from home plate sliding fantasy leagues where the dust of fallen towers never touches the empty graves of lost friends who didn't leave enough of a concern for anyone to stop a war for as they were too busy starting wars for someone else who had more friends and was better thought of than the bike messengers, panhandlers, undocumented workers that left no discernible DNA rubbed into molten metal skeleton structural remains of a lost day in time

missed flight on the 9th means nothing 2 days later or even 10 smoky years afterward

walking it off in a haze that has left many for dead who had no choice since then only

it was not the first time death took innocence for granted on the lay away plan it would

make the whole repertoire more chic than ever as texas finally cried for yankees like never

before seen footage of popular mechanics tragedy lessons learned stateside as if uncle sam

were an islamic bee keeper with guantanamo bee hive unleashing istani drone attacks all over

the god damn fields of inglorious vengeance against the internal apartheid of soulless decisions

that kiss hot ashen limbs all over battery park as the soot of a lost mosque goes undetected on

the wailing walls scored by roman swords and spears an unfashionable empire ago

these words were just a bloodletting for those that never saw it coming in so many places

in so many ways in so many times in so many lands

most people wanna be left alone unless you are gonna make them famous

no one wants to pay the price for fame as long as fame is paying the price

we make bombs as if it were potlatch for children to return it to our unborn

unconceived unadulterated generations yet to come

the blood all mixes in on the sidewalk but it can't be demarcated

from the scorched earth that buries ideals and convictions

in graves now trampled and left unmarked

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

so early becomes so late becomes so early again

like a spiral staircase of dreams and trials

each one dissolves into the next

no angels with trumpets

to herald us forward

no vacant being

of existence

leaving us

for dead

or

alone

here now

the wisest is

the young daughter

of the craftspeople's church

where the family beckons all

to come back into the fold of the town

located on the outskirts of the great city

that is part of a like-minded country of folks

who have all built something here together as one

where they say in all places blessed I may still find loneliness

there is no despair in it for me as I know you will always be waiting

to welcome me back into something akin to a home in the dusk lit by the last magic

beholding failing beams of translucent glory overwhelming all these considerations of

philosopher's words in the last moment of breath of heartquake of shiver of death of peace

...Fixer...

Fixer
(Photograph Chosen By Eden)   


she took pictures of me while we were in love
she took pictures of us while we were in love
pictures that she developed herself, in a lab
   off of telegraph ave. where she rented time
      & chemicals to do so
    she took pictures of me staring off into space
worried about final out comes & doom
was looming overhead in the shadows
     she took pictures of me drunken &
fighting with the neighbors in the street
knuckles all bloody with teeth all bared
      she took pictures of me attending public
demonstrations that I would turn into riots
that would turn into photographs of cops
    in riot gear guarding a fallen comrade
    she took pictures of me tying off &
injecting what I took to be sanity into
my waiting bloodsteam that recoiled
    from the pulsating madness of my torn up
      reality that dropped into frame like confetti
thrown into the universe from another world
      & another time when someone would take
photographs of me now as I look out a window
     wondering  what ever happened to all those
 old pictures of insanity & does it really matter
     now that I have someone shooting pics
of me while we are in love & doom is just
       a memory as she takes pictures of me
while she sits cross-legged & naked to let me
      know I am safer now than I ever was or
would be as long as she is holding the camera
     & all I have to do is look out the window
so I can remember to forget about all the photos
     that are lost in the past  that no longer matters
washed away in fixer & blood & tear drops
     flooding away a black & white world so long ago

Razor - Poem by A. Razor. Tags: razor, free verse, name

Razor - Poem by A. Razor. Tags: razor, free verse, name