Methods in Madness.



there’s a small parcel of the South Side where we’ve been left for dead.                                           i like it this way.                                                                                                                           trying to piece together words and phrases from abandoned traces of life. mostly melted posters. pulp. worn down factory brick. water and clay.                                                                                   ‘if you have a problem please call’.                                                                                                    in this orphaned corner of urban overpopulation, we were left this way.

unanswered prayers are hanging themselves in the trees. there’s nothing else left to do here.
across this curdled river, the wind and i are arguing.
i like it this way.



The sky is so blue at 5:05pm. it climbed. way up high.

The clouds are closer to us humans                                                                                                 and such a gray they appear to roll like fresh smoke off a forest fire.

Across the sun holds on to a grand idea
a bright spot
pretending today it’s the moon.
The City’s slowly starting to notice.
The colours came out to play with us. tiny red leaves are exposed. green moss on rocks naturally steps.

The East River is stubborn. a defective mood ring gray.
It begs you to stare hoping for an emotional change.
And you do. Feel. It all changing around you.

The truth and me, we just sit.



beyond the thunder dome.

beyond the thunder dome.

The ‘Day the Lawyers Died’ finally has come.

Done and Done. We shall never speak of this again. Praise Jesus.

On the 23rd Floor. There is a beautiful view from hell.
The East River almost can pull off looking as brilliant as the Portland Maine downtown ocean waterfront.
Took a moment to close my eyes.
Feel the sunlight streaming through
high rise Wall Street window washer cleaned glass panes.
And pretend.
everything was better.
And it is.
I took the final handwritten cursive scrawled escrow fund check.
Acknowledged my ex’s lawyer had screwed me out of enormous amounts of cash for a five minute unpolluted view of the East River.
And rerouted back to the elevators with my daughter Scarlett.
And my future. wide open. Mine and mine alone.
We both smiled at the strangers going about their day. Sharing a corn muffin from the shiny metal sidewalk vender’s cart.

A group of Asian tourists were Scarlett’s paparazzi.
She hid.
Holding on to the backs of my crocheted stocking covered legs
peeking around me like a corner
for an ‘All Clear’ frame of reference view.
To her dismay. We were followed for blocks.
Her little plump face scowled.
A literal. Honest to goodness. Scowl.
With the most intense blue eyes
and pouty Dora the Explorer Chapsticked lips you can fathom.
I didn’t dare laugh.

Three train rides later. 2 to the L to the G.
Scarlett votes to stay underground
and continue taking Subway trains.
I vote to resurface
and find our way through the war torn heavy machinery construction neighborhood streets of Greenpoint.
Only tar and dirt exist between sidewalk curbs.
You must hurdle one leg over and pull yourself up to the safety of the storefront edges.
Everything in-between resembles a Tina Turner – Mel Gibson Mad Max Beyond the Thunder Dome scene.

Armed with skittles, water, Diet Coke, and bagels.
New York City basic survivalist food.
We cross Nassau Avenue for the final time before destination home.
Scarlett wants to carry the candy. And water.
As I look down to fish out the Poland Spring bottle from black plastic bag… Scarlett had been jumping off of stoop first steps since the G train stop
all the way down the Avenue.
Proud of her high jumping abilities.
Now it was my turn.
looking down. fishing for water. And Jump!
The biggest. The deadest. The Biggest.
The eye is still intact. And staring. At us. middle of the street. RAT.

Under construction.
The neighborhood. This life. The dead things. The new adventures.
The alternative paths to smiles – survival – and home.
It’s not the prettiest fairytale one could dream up as a child.
But it’s mine. Rats and all.
And that suites me. just fine.