kick out…

nyc grit

some days are just harder than the next
i don’t know why
i don’t write the specs
to life in the big city and the movement of the street
it’s tough just to hang and stock my fridge to eat
’cause dealing in the boroughs is a constant ride
celebrities losing status
life reborn from suicide
while millions of naked souls
pound the streets on a mission
searching for lost gold
or a warmth found through epidermus friction
some days the city is straight up black and white
good versus evil
wrong versus right
but most of the time we’re all a shade of gray
doing our thing
finding our own way
so when the city begins to loom
(as all massive entities do)
you do what it takes to get off the mat
(suck it up to make it through)
that’s what works for me
as i refuse to be pinned with a one
a two
or a three

love letter


i’m definitely not down with that vibe
red devil barbecue grills within the suburban tribe
manicured lawns, thirty piece china sets
garbage disposal units and non-allergic chia pets
two cars parked in a freshly paved drive
an overly friendly postman to make the conversation live
neighborhood watchers to keep trespassers away
tree lined roads without a glimpse of decay
i don’t know
it all sounds too perfect to me
give me the cultured grit of urbania
that’s my living philosophy
stumbling outside on a thursday night
running into a mixed couple just might
kick off a discussion of world changing events
or lead to a park with the live band tents
a subway ride away lives the van goghs and monets
just across town are the son seals and crays
downtown is juniors famous cheesecake
no matter what kind of cheese you make
so i navigate around the homeless population
and sometimes the pace can cause exasperation
but when i lie down at night
and think about what will come tomorrow
i know i won’t be left in the dark
because the city constantly calls for me to borrow
a ride
block by block
tick tock goes the clock
neighborhoods change faces
new storefronts, new races
all in a blink of an eye
why ask why?
all you can do is hold on for the ride
there’s nothing like this man made riptide
life in the city ain’t a pity
just give me a metrocard and 24 hours
and i’ll come back with found knowledge and flowers
for you

Mermaids On The Island


Linda and I hopped on the Q Saturday afternoon and rolled down to Coney Island to catch the yearly spectacle “Mermaid Parade.” When we got there, we realized that we came a bit too late as the streets were packed with spectators and mermaids were hustling to get into position. We did the best we could and shoved our way to the front of the rows of people stacked six deep and waited for the show to begin.

Now here’s something I didn’t know about mermaids; apparently they like to drive vintage hot rods and burn massive amounts of rubber. One mer-dude peeled out right in front of five cops and got them all┬áchoking on melted rubber fumes. I laughed really hard, which had people looking at me funny, because ever since 9/11, it seems that no one can make fun of cops in NYC. I still thought it was a Kodak moment. Sue me.

The next thing I learned was that drunken mermaids like to show off their boobs. Actually, all of the mermaids seemed to enjoy it. It made me smile. Linda didn’t say anything, but I think she thought I was a perv. I just found the whole spectacle amusing.

We ended up walking around for hours, stopping once to eat and once for me to lose five bucks on a basketball game (it was rigged, I swear). At the end of the day, after spending an hour watching people on the boardwalk we dragged our tired, burnt asses to the train and went home.