Monday, January 21, 2008

DW: Vile Blueberries

I blew off my writer's group meeting tonight, which I think was tonight, but maybe wasn't because I didn't get any emails, and someone usually sends an email reminding everyone of the meeting. I'm bummed that I didn't make it to a yoga class on Saturday, and tonight I was cold and exhausted from writing new business proposals all day, and the thought of going home and making chicken cutlets was ever so more appealing. 

This morning I was working out listening to Patti Smith at 6:30 am, and I was inspired to write the following poem which I wanted to send to a friend who alas, is no longer a friend, but who would have enjoyed it none the less.

Abraxas NYC

Vile blueberries
sleep beside mustard covered glass
withering with despair over the detritus of lost dreams
splayed across splintered bridges with seams torn asunder by fear, accusation, projection
and the knowing that it is often too easy to be alone in a city
where polite vomit is a clue to ATM receipts
where taxis sail to Harlem--the last stop before Heaven
where you can't use your Metro card after dark.

All this she said, as she crumpled her dirty tissue
into her pocket but not before
wiping it clean with the Truth
of her own withholding.



sezhoo said...

AV: DW, thanks for the entry. Send it to your friend. S/he could probably use a little less withholding.
And let me know next time Patti is playing some little space in the city and I'll wish myself there. Save me a place to stand ..

Patricia said...

Errr!!! It's actually kinda funny...