I am a writer living in New York City.
Life is a connected series of moments, yet non-linear by nature, and made stark, by the city on this stormy night. I lie on the bed, my back propped up by pillows and there is nowhere to move.
By David Power6 years ago in Poets
What is the price getting a reprieve from re-living? Getting it right. And so..it happened, again. I saw it coming and it made me laugh, even as the shadow passed over my face.
I waited, reading the veteran's account from long ago, about not being there, as the dust from construction blew along 55th St., by The St. Regis, covering the bourgeois in their own poison.
I'm still working, at jobs I’ve avoided, my whole life. I've howled at windows, and bayed at hens, in the indifferent moonlight.
It started here, on this number line, and it’s marked by numerals,in circles and squares. And it ends here. In fact, however. . .it never began, and it never ends.