Tag Archives: Brooklyn Bridge
Bridge
For MJN crossing beneath, for NYC connecting across, for The Brooklyn Bridge rescue working destiny Advance your vantage point, collapse your facade of steel, your gutted concrete floor. Collide your bridge maker with mine, collage your hand over mouth with … Continue reading
Filed under Morning Poems
On the Beam
I can imagine Matteo Pericoli out there beneath the Brooklyn Bridge counting trusses and cables and stays. I can see the world go blue against white detailing and tiny capital letters that march arrogantly into the empty. Never could keep … Continue reading
Filed under Day Poems
Distance Avails Not *
I like to correspond with the dead: Tell Emily what it’s like to be a woman alone in a room in the 21st. Ask Walt what he thinks of the Brooklyn Bridge 127 years after the fact. The fact is … Continue reading
Filed under Overnight Poems
After the Resurrection
To eat lemon cake with a spoon, to dream of walking on that bridge with you (not beneath it in a tourist vessel), to be so confident grace will follow is to be willing to go where there are no … Continue reading
Filed under Civil Twilight or Dawn Poems
Steer Here
They say be in the moment. I say I want to be in that moment—that night three summers ago on a boat as it changes its course beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Pause into slow turning, live guitars propel the motion. … Continue reading
Filed under Night Poems
On the Risky Subject of the Brooklyn Bridge (Day 2,571)
If I’m going to talk about you, I better cut every other word in half to see if the reflection of your cable stays in the river floats, or disintegrates under scrutiny of a thousand pairs of headlight eyes.
Filed under Day Poems
Bridge
For MJN crossing beneath, for NYC connecting across, for The Brooklyn Bridge rescue working destiny Advance your vantage point, this bridge, collapse your facade of steel, your gutted concrete floor. Collide your bridge maker with mine, collage your instinctive hand … Continue reading
Filed under Morning Poems
Waterfalls Are Made (or, Olafur Eliasson’s “New York City Waterfalls”)
As I admire water falls as art, I lose my anxious desire for a chance encounter with you. I never forgot you. Mainly scaffolding, pumps, and piping, physics of the tangible after inebriation splashes into the river of our souls. … Continue reading
Filed under Afternoon Poems
