i found a pavement-edge garden in the Lower East Side
this soft seeing place after glare and tar and traffic scream-shoosh
stepped in then round and over a hillock
paved grey edges like better-dead money
scraped bird shit off half the wooden seat with the end of my stick
(butterflies on it - but that's not what i mean)
finally after a good half hour's walk
could eat breakfast i'd bought
two croissants and a berry smoothie with a jelly doughnut after
Note - taking in such nutrition just anywhere is rarely my style
no more than i would sleep with just anyone who wants me
good food and good sex both demand a decent arrangement
not that they're plainly connected
except with occasional me-odd-syntax for gifty reasons
which is just
the way it is (sing that line as if hanging out clean laundry)
on the other two wooden park seats sat other women by themselves
younger than me
we each looked at something else
myself - a two metre high flowering cherry with a bird in its branches
the woman to my right - spiky grasses by some rocks
woman far to my left - spring green just fluffed birchish trees overhead
then another in khaki with a big bag dashed in
through the high metal gates
her feet crunched on the narrow gravel pathway
'we're closing, now.'
'you're closing' said the woman nearest me
the merest hint of the perfume of a question
then reached for her white jacket
slowly as a flower opening with trick photography
i can write these things because i practised
being a plant while cameras are trained upon me
the extreme isolation resulting not really expected
but it suits this strange arrangement of myself even with weeping
which only gardens understand
i took the longest time to prepare to walk once more
not wanting to go nor to fall into impatience or worry
i've been warned not to collapse here
end up a torn plastic bag caught in the branches of railway trees
their tanglebeauty evident but not aimed for
and there's my compass (remember truest bestest goodest feelings now)
this morning eating peanut butter filled pretzels for breakfast
after green grapes
and a caffiene drink named after a powerful animal
much water in a tall glass
and a painkiller as blue as a cocktail named after some tacky movie
soon the hayfever medicine
this germ brings woozy
but it's the kind no one can catch now
was on my breath yesterday without the symptoms
i would guess (this is not a gamble - no bets just sense)
so it's safe in that respect to go out
and see what NYC Monster of Fabulous and Grotesque Wonder Gems can offer
while i cannot infect any others i must not fall asleep in a cab
nor anywhere near the sideshows
most especially not near the disguised teeth
so that small garden was a main event
and i'd seen others on my walk
they appear in NYC where you most need
a green place to look at
or sit in
blessed green and nothingness of sell such a relief
leaving
i stood still a moment by the woman in khaki
she waited by the tall black metal gate
it appeared she wanted to close but was not pushy
i said 'thanks'
her standing taller made me understand she knew I meant it
and then my New Zild accent and all that voice training and exercise
my sound a growing place too
just as I exited she said, 'do you want to work here?'
I wished I could turn and say, 'yes, of course, how?'
but my green paisley over-dress and many jewellery glit-jangle protect me
the costume of Fuller-fashion Island where I rule myself
knowing we'd have a fruitless conversation
as far as my care of the garden was concerned
only lemons
though I'd tell her about my blog
trees for travel
and possibly even more - written down and sprigged like a corsage
all this understood in a second
(my retrospect tells me this and memory flips)
subconscious faster than the speed of light
the impossible movie of my experiences
so i kept on kindly walking
out of the Lower East Side towards Soho
sent back best wishes the way someone who hates good-byes can do
she had a good eye for a prospective gardener
with good manners
and could find someone to help there soon
i expect
bales and bales of my hope around me
i've shorn all the sheep of my making sleep for them
now i find oblivion with a struggle
the protector angel says it's good for my character and tears open walls
my dreams are bricks or falling dust
the messenger tells me 'lost at night or day you choose'
so i am bewildered in bed
to save myself from the city
while i set a course for the plane tomorrow and gaining a day
off to the last place ever settled on this Earth
where we see the sun first through the ozone hole
ripped back sides Iggy told me about
with his raucous and jump passenger gaze
Lou told me to watch out for the eyeshadow too
that beat guitar a keraaang
and Patti sang so I knew it could cure any moment to a page
(the depths of a slip of vinyl can be centuries)
and we can die of the beauty of a place
like at home if you walk into the bush unprepared
just saying
monsters are everywhere
as fascinating as recipes
as dangerous as deep fried food
as ready as a ravine or a robber or a glass of whiskey
eat or be eaten
seat or be sat upon
greet or grow ignored
'seize tomorrow' he said
hands hung at his sides like pale bats
and mine also now slightly curled as if asleep
in the cave of what-could-have-been-and-may-be-but-is-best-forgotten-now
such stories we invent for our safety and glow
occasional past revisits me on a wish-fish then flicks into ocean
while love never leaves
but may hide itself for a rest
like hedgehogs go to ground for winter
they sleep under low dried bamboo shelters lashed for them
or inside piled leaves as thick as abandoned books
ready for warmer weather
yes
love
has prickles
and there's nothing
too
double or nothing i'm tempted to say
but then only nothing can double this
goodernessandmercyfollowingusallthedaysofourlivesamen
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