above or below

they’re sitting in the basement rooftops

of sky-high-scrapers built ten times taller than

the Empire State and then some, I haven’t measured

fifty-three million tons of concrete under their

asses and fifty-three million more above them

somewhere soaring rapid in waves of sound,

rays of light below the sun, moon, and gloomy stars,

everything below something else, everything

above or beneath each other, except the

Empire State.


Gatz the Great

It’s 11:30 on a Wednesday night

And the winter’s cold but damp,

The blizzard had passed yet the

Vicious winds have roared

And haven’t stopped.

I am sitting on the beach rocks

Like a boat beating against the current,

And the Moon sleeps in the distance

While the ocean buzzes into life and

The great green light flickering across the dock

Shines endlessly like a garnet stone

Or a beautiful daisy for us to admire

Among a field of grays and blacks.

It was a light for us, to

Incite hope from,

As motivation to stay calm and safe

But to take risks and start scandals

To rise higher up the long ladder

From poverty to sanctuary,

From flames to paradise, and

From ashes to beauty,

And from here we set our gaze skyward.

As I speak the moon-man is fishing for attention,

And languishing in arrogant insecurity, while

Baiting the fish with dread and

Dropping lanterns and light bulbs in the bay;

He’s knocking on the world’s ceiling

And laughing with his lover

For he had exploited the fish for gold.

But the angels, with their all-seeing eyes,

Responded furiously

For lightning struck thrice on his mistress

And they were quite pleased

And the moon man was frustrated

And the fish laying on the ocean

Were gasping for air against the

Murky and dangerous current

In the valley of ashes.

And I wondered if they would stay dead for eternity.