TIMES SQUARED

History repeats itself because
that’s what written into its’ contract.
Check the sub-clause. It’s all there
in black and white, or sepia tones;
whatever steps of removal leaves you
comfortable with what can’t be undone.
It’s a self-generating property, it’s
transcendent real estate. You’re on
the ground floor of a value that can only
go down, and down, and down…

My faucet’s dripping
air conditioners still hum
a Brooklyn silence

Tethered spider web
spins and drifts, silvery gleam
from a waist-high weed

Harlem Haiku

Three spotlights skitter
across a mist-laden sky
off selling something

outside my window
an owl call cuts through the dark
we talk about shit

Moon-bright flecks of light
drawn on scurrying current
toward dark waterfall

Damn my misplaced faith
I had the key to all things
and then I lost it