Tag: Isaac

Sitting up, unconjured by thoughtless easel,
a turpentine painter runs through all the permutations 
of light and license – the early sunrise crawling his curtains 
with sleepless termites; this is how the unrendered morning
will appear to proxied bothered mind, precursor to eager 
foot traffic by hours.

It is said to be quite unhealthy to stew in the quicksand 
of one's own thoughts, to wander as doddering widower
might, muttering gibberish before a return to prolonged silence:
Washington Square had its own hanging tree,
an old execution ground long before it became the Village.

And one may feel ghosts upon shivered nape, but never see them.
Never know them like the neighbourhood bodega*, that smell
of simple courage.  The binding of someone not named Isaac.


*Small neighbourhood shop