They wallow in Karma, bastion bar of cigarette amnesty
in Bloomberg’s city of the sleepless ban;
I heard the phone ring,
fished it out of my pocket
and like a thirsty rocket I burst out without leave,
but rather upon more desirable invitation
to disperse and regather through excused fresh air
in the playground of ornery vagrants
laying between the corners of housing projects
where children play during the day
without cars, without brakes
without supervision against bones that break on cement
when they jump from jungle gym perches
in order to search for disappearing wedding rings
in the unraked piles of leaves
but they find only needles and prophylactics
the disease and its solution, for by night,
surreptitious subversives assemble
to dissemble sobriety, practice impiety
to quietly tremble whilst they riotously
rage against the machines of gentle night,
youth of the Lower East Side, let treble of freedom ring
let ravers rebel & revel from river to river
from sea to unravelling sea

I am an explosion
trapped in a human’s body,
Blood necessitates escape
it traverses through the wires
of my firemuscles
electrifies my
volatile eruptions of energy,
a schizophrenic bomb
who needs loving idealism or nihilistic destruction,
I scampered up the whiskey-stained monkey-bars
and leapt like a dynamite panther that can’t be kept
hostage by homogenous metallic rungs, and I shrieked
and it rung abrasively throughout
leaky faucets and against
barred windows
of sleeping public houses
where dreams seem to be vanished into surrealism
or to be banished by capitalism,
and I run through the rue
of Huey Long’s urban kings

This lovely evening was careening
into day, and as the sun was orbiting
children cavorting and thermometers sprawling
autumn was falling and winter winds squalling,
I was absorbing wired heat
and endothermically inspired to
create an ark in the middle of the park
and bark at dazed & confused comrades
to infuse their night, and join
nocturnal sparrows, bobble-headed hipster pigeons,
ravenous crows, and olive doves
in an enthused celebration
of the leaves symbolic of bucolic regeneration
so we groveled to the gravel, amassed autumn’s downed upshots
and chewed the ruddy anomalies like teething rodents
down to their last vein, drinking the blood
of trees, a hippie Eucharist

We lavished in the by-products
conducting séances with the cyclically dead leaves
whereby we focused on the source
and galloped like wild horses in slurred, blurred circles about
the planted totem poles, slanting in cement
like organic towers of Piza, wise in their eons of neon observations
we clap our hands together like ping-pong paddles upon the leaky sap
we clasp as we hum Turkish marching hymns, which we learned
from the rings of cell-phones
and we bring our artistic tongues onto the bark
she licked nimble, coy eyebrows
while my taste-buds bestowed bountiful afros
we imprinted salivary smiley faces
beacons of good karma,
when axes, chainsaws, and instruments of severing
are replaced by clever tongues, pleasuring
lumberjacks become lovers
and the industry suffers

We did not kiss the trees
as a flirtatiously oblique scheme
to kiss each other
but explosions happen
and fires must be doused by damp yearnings
to keep the trees from burning.