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Writing from "The Unwritten” on cities and stories and the spaces in-between
"Why don't you just concentrate on your own costume, ok?"
Glance askance, askew my way
today another cold blown rainy Saturday
today the bus reminded me of another-
bus, long since forgotten
gotten off at a long past stop
or was it a dream, fat city rain drops
drip down, of Manhattan
gray out the window passing
the Lower East Side of my youth
the Alphabet City of my childhood
the excitement of a foreign station
places, the energy, the freedom, forbidden
the logic, superimposed on the land
lies layers of meaning, sandwiched
drawn from the mind, human-
-ity, graph paper pure intersecting lines at 90 degrees
the city's, the cities drawn on loose leaf
torn sheets, a rip runs fault
faulty fragile earth
lie buried, six feet of dirt
so don't worry too much
worry what other's think
when they say such-and-such
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