Ranch Poem – “The Parkway”


The Parkway

It’s faster to travel a St. than an Ave.
Look anyway you want and everywhere at once.
Better half of a decade I’ve been
scribbling, reflecting, and texting
on that escape route bus out of the City.
It’s raining something fierce this time and
I’m watching all these human beings trug around
with their soaked socks and vinyl mushroom caps.
And I remember the girls in Brooklyn earlier today
walking down Bedford wearing the same dresses,
even in the summer heat they wore bloody rain boots!
From the boulder mountain ranges in the Park to
the asphalt sands of Manhattan Isle,
this place is dug in and eternal.
They will speak of this land in any future
and on any world or dimension that
knows of Earth and humanity.
A million million million million
faceless Herring people prostrate all around,
trying their best to vibrate and intertwine.
Is it the rain clouds or has night fallen?
I think I see Maxwell’s ripples atop the Hudson
and as sparks fly as pen flicks off paper
the Parkway may be my kindling




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