leonardo da vinci on poetry-

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ODE TO NEW YORK CITY

I’ve got your hand in my pocket And I hold it tight through Dull southern winters.  I dream about stepping through your snow.  I carry an umbrella for you, To shelter you [and me] from sharp criticism That falls like rain by those who  Don't understand you. Remember: I held your  Hand  when those airplanes hit.  I swam your contaminated waters Walked your gritty and diamond surfaces Scaled your ivory towers And slept in your bed.  I got to know you  And spoke with you in dim light,  Listened to your love stories and  Aching heart as we sat in the stench  Of subways and on benches.  I welcomed your lengthy arms, draped around me  As I navigated your streets. I left my mark on you  With paint and p hoto lenses  And you liked the way  The scrubbing of my brushes felt  On your skin And the way my flash lit up your flaws So beautifully. [I know you...
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THE BANJO

The last one left. He walked out into traffic, Was hit by an oncoming  Life.  And anchored himself to the  Middle of the sea where He and his girl and their dog [And their dreams]  Tread water eternally.  I watched as he sank And gulped and sometimes A boat would come by and  He would put up his feet, Stretch his arms and Say, “This is the good life!” And his girl couldn’t sleep And he found dark, cooling holes to  Dip his head into  Each evening.  I stopped watching.  I crossed to the other side  And sat on a bench Tied my hands together, And observed passers-by. Solitude.  Beautiful rays of sun  Pressed through clouds Like red fingers massaging My skull.  And when I would relax,  They would seep down into  Me and grow wings And flutter around in my heart For hours at time.  I was never really alon...
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THE GIRL IN THE BOAT

The rose spots On her face like a leopard Lit warm as the sun overhead Held its rays out past the night Reaching to her like a child To a mother who had Been Gone A Long Time Beaming Across waters where Creatures had Never known its warmth. In depths dark and watery As the cave of his inner-being, Cold She doubted she was One, But maybe the Ocean, Blood filled And nothing else. Vapid and airy He glided over the earth After work, after long Hours of sitting At conference tables. Discarding his clothes. His shoes kicked off And fell from depths Like a broken ledge off a cliff Landing in the Sahara For the poor who hadn't Known coverings, Took to them as Super-natural. And the watery depths Dried, and the tunnels and channels Became like bedrock. Mystery was high above, On wings passing over Snow-capped mountains And your socks Dropped down too. Naked and filthy ...
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