Cinnamon Asthenosphere 14
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Here I hold what’s tangible
touching relics brought back
from the surrealist dream of
seventeen hours in New York
City. Walking forward from
10 AM Boots full of rain, head
Full of rain-umbrella?umbrella?
-Eyes full of “the neon-” look
left right “-bullshit” being
washed away to proclaim the
true grey grunge of Old Gotham
real feel city; “DON’T HONK”
but everyone does. Admiring
the pizza, the fashion, the
vertical upward emphasis living
all alive and passing over the sky
wet reflective pavement the non
stop pulse of maniac yellow in
every picture and as we left we
surrendered that bristling electric
hotplate of reactions to the
surrealist harbor fog shroud
Rolling away into the unprintable
and unrepeatable smells of-ugh
-Newark, and looking for where
we’d been, nothing but silhouettes
fragmentary winking and sky
scraping shadows of ghosts.
For ten hours we drove into
the strange night spandrels of
toll roads and “motorways”
and 24-hour diners, eating the
souvenir M&Ms, activating the
talismans of trinkets purchased
and pulled back with us to the
cold reality of Tuesday, just so
we would know, really know
that our memories were real.