forgotten banknotes
exposure amplified
from empty bar Tribeca shotglasses,
here where lower Island sinking
beneath million dollar storefronts
displaying discarded dreams disrespected.
virtuous backs
now turn away feigning tenderness
for bared hearts, stepped on
while fleeing dumptrucks and incinerators:
are we just crumbs of burnt toast,
numb and aloof
on this supposed ferry?
today, a oneway circle ride
tomorrow, more venture lofts,
next week, confusion then enlightenment.
there was once a painter
nobody’d heard of
conjuring up former lifetimes,
this painter
refused shooting anyone through the back:
backs turned away in tenderness.
1985
NYC