Friday, July 25, 2014


Moms blue calypso
strum with rum and the only one
I knew who could purr
in my ear like a cat
on a black top roof
inclined to be the best one
I'll ever find

Moms blue calypso
divine and sharp
in the key of need
can play it on Saturday
but everyday feels like Monday
when the weight of the Ocean
drains your eyes of light
and the heavy lidded
solemnity ain’t a’ight

don’t lie to me now
don’t lie to me son
don’t cry for me child
just smile for me once

Moms blue calypso
Plucked and picked
On a tranquilo
guitar willed to me by glory
capo’d on the first fret
and I bet you knew it
before I blew it
lips puckered
to los limones
para mi
para ti
para the party
in the Hotel Chelsea
when the moon
was creeping in
and the streets of Cairo
were filled with red banners
of a hapless sort of hope

Moms blue calypso
Sung softly
to the motherless child
who sleeps in Antigua
while cops stand around
on Staten Island
and watch a giant collapse
in a heap of flesh
disinterested in life
those half zombies
and they walk around like
prison guards
‘cos they know
we’re all on death row

don’t lie to me now
don’t lie to me son
don’t cry for me child
just smile for me once

(drawing: "Nelson Dreaming on Antigua" by David Aaron Greenberg 2014)

Wednesday, July 2, 2014


All you selfish pricks

With your selfie clicks

And your likes and likes

Without even a thought

To enlist or even

Evolve past your

Self-interest or

Even dislike or

Discuss the currency

Of your lust

Nor the dust that’s settled

On your real life

So uptight but so

Loose and lovely

In the light from the screen

I scream into micro-

phones but no one


I tap and prod

And I peak and poke

But the letters like spokes

In a wheel are broke

And ain’t nobody no-

body gonna fix ‘em

when you’re a nobody

no body—

and the elixir to this

mix is I know I

do it all too—I am

become death

destroyer of illusions

utilized to replace

my delusions which

have dissipated over

the years spent

guarded from the

bombardment of images

barreling towards me

like headlights on the highway

And there are times

when I do feel connected

to the power source

when deliberate accidents

happen and I use

the illusions to manifest

real life

spirit clicks

More than toe

jobs or ankle licks—

a desperate yearning

for the ultimate fix
(photograph by Barron Claiborne)

Tuesday, July 1, 2014


When you

were 15

in 1971

and my life

had just begun

you memorized


or so I heard

from someone


who asked me


what I was to


and what you

were to me

(and  after

all the years

I still don’t know)

(photo by Donald Baechler)




She was dead

for almost a year

Before any of her

So-called friends

had the balls

or even inclination

to inform me

And I loved her

Once—on Clinton

Street briefly when

we lived in a hazy

shade of bliss.


Too much wine

I told myself was

all it took to slip

into her body.

But I went in

head first with

no delusions

Unprotected for

the very first time.


I was naked as

the day I was cut.

And I went in deep

and she responded



Her friends and

her family

weren’t exactly

like my friends and


and frankly Mister Banksy

stencils were blasé

blasé at the end of last

Century already…

Sorry I digressed.

Where was I…



So after meeting

her mother

I knew it was all over.

And after greeting her

father, I couldn’t fathom a future

with her or with-

out her



Then came the storm

and it whitewashed the City

Cars abandoned by the cube

at Astor place

buried in snow

busses barely ran

subways shut down


We walked up Avenue A

down the center of the street

when she turned to me

and said:

“No matter how much

money you make

from your songs

you’ll never earn

a fraction of what I am

going to inherit.”


But she didn’t factor in

the fact that

she’d never live

long enough to ever

see one single shiny dime.


She was never mine

To hold or keep

Just lay with



And she’d never

Stumble ‘cos

She already had

Taken all her falls


I was just a boy

Back then

No one took the time

To try to teach me how

to be a man

though a few tried

to help me be more like them.


Sad-eyed Lindsay

Of the Roosevelt

Re-married clan


I can’t say

With a straight face

That I miss ya’ cos you’re


Still with me

Smiling in the light

On another sunny day

Waiting for your man

To drop his glassine wares

Onto your filthy table top

with care


I can’t stop

But I just did