Lost and found

One flat violin,
the smell of garlic knots,
a loud woman speaking mandarin behind my back,
a Hassidic Jew submerged into Talmud
some praisings “Hare Krishna” from another end.

(I even saw Jonah a few times before).

The train dives like a sperm whale
into the gaping hole
into the underworld of Brooklyn.

(en route)

One nauseating hangover,
a notebook.

First I was lost, then I was found on a Friday afternoon.


a myocardium

the traffic,
is a clogged artery.

a transitional state
between the dreaming
and the awakening.

slow advance,
slow thinking.

driving or dozing.

spilled the coffee all over the hand,
in the car,
in the bus,
a banal refrain.

“the radio just said
the accident ahead.”

“he woke up this morning anew,
and died this morning too.

it is already today,
but feels like yesterday.

myocardial morning.

words #3

he had a newspaper booth
in the corner of the busy street.

form time to time I was buying from him
lottery tickets and soda,
paying in exact change.

every time he was handling me the ticket
he was cold and silent.

every time he was checking the ticket,
he was only saying one word, – “nothing”.

(a single word)

and every time he was saying that word,
I felt like the world
is about to get back
into the Chaos.

then I usually went to work.

St. Patrick’s day morning

Tuesday. grey clouds, drizzling rain,
another ride on the subway train.
some people wear green, some people, – routine,
some sleepless nights, some no time to preen.

in the corner, aloof, baggy eyes, banal tar,
a homeless man is setting his bed in the car.
dozing, squeezing my book hard in the hand,
overrated uniformity, boring and bland.

doctor’s office, elevator muzak, violins,
the pumping palm, the needle poking the skin.
the blood is running into the vial,
another Tuesday, another God’s trial.

on my way to the office, Fashion avenue, stroll,
Madison Square Garden, empty head, big TV is showing football.
wandering tourists, young models on cocaine, yawning cop,
morning fatigue, smell of pee, writer’s block.

light PM rain

she came with the light PM rain,
we haven’t spoken since the high school.

she moved to London.
I stayed around.

“how do you feel”, I asked.
(I know she was coping with the health problems).

“I look good, that’s the main thing, right?”, she answered.
“we are getting older, you know, but you are getting younger.
that’s encouraging”, I replied.

I felt like a jellyfish on my new blood pressure medication.

she said, “nowadays easier being bipolar, than with the high blood pressure”.

“how are the kids, wife, Ok?”
I nodded, yes.

I put the paper boat,
that I just made out of the menu,
in runlet on the street.

“I got to go, see you around”, she said.

she got into the yellow cab,
and left into the light PM rain.

the paper boat fell
into the