Sealed within the envelope of night is a common indifference. Shadows appear equal. A corner musician pulls at the strangers eyes. Coins in the hat drinks for a night a city bus with sleepers roars by. Skelton road crews work for food. A walk between the avenues, neon signs wave welcome subways rumble below, buses … More MIXED AND EQUAL



Night is the last language of day, full of unspoken wishes while breathing new words.  Theatres with black and white movies attract the mysterious; plenty of empty red velvet seats. Stained concrete steps descend into the veins of subways.  Under examined street art is worth less than the paint.   Crisscrossing pedestrians stream past like … More STILL FRAMES


An overhead subway creeps between brownstones.  Sharp shadows like falling venetian blinds cut across the moving cars.  From the street below steam pipes belch gray mists.  Visions of the city become abstracts of other visions; seldom is there a clear choice.   Late night diners with doors open and tables full of lively hand conversations, … More WASHED OVER


Shadowy unruly pendants; the tales of fate misguided, the language of drowning without answers. Like potted houseplants turning into the sun, people wait for that taste of a good watering.   Every corner holds the treasure for an attempted escape. A piano without tune falls silent. A ceiling fan spins out of boredom.  A floor … More NO HARM IN LEAVING


Street, flat out. Oversize shirts, yellow and striped.  Coats without arms.  A song in a walk; shoes envy the beat. Broad strokes of colored hair. A beard, a flash of checkered pants.  Sandals and combat boots.  A skateboard has lost its rider.  Subways rattle. Steam pipes hiss. Rain coats under blue skies. Hats without rain … More SIXTH AVENUE


The overhead rumbling of streetcars on the West Side Line has long passed, along with passengers wearing hats, workmen, excited children, women with shopping bags and lovers whispering. The city has entered an era of new changes while others fight for what was. Trees, weeds and scattered flowers keep company with abandoned tracks and switch … More WEST SIDE LINE


The sight of day vanishes as if cut. Underground tremors release into tunnels creating monster echoes. The train becomes absorbed in an ocean of dark air.   Doors fling open. Warm gaseous fumes slap morning faces. The platform fills with legs and shoes and eyes looking down; children are still home in bed.   The … More ARRIVING

BUS #58

Subways rattle overhead; long corners scream the voice of metal. Below, a street fills with faces. Anxious gazes, newspaper readers, nervous feet, fingers tap, hats tilt; waiting for bus #58. Warm city breezes swirl, painting faces gray and humid. Sweat stains armpits. Foreheads glaze like thin frosting. Collars breath unbuttoned. Sleeves roll up tight. Tiredly … More BUS #58


Blue heavens are always open above clouds.  Far below voices linger, busily hurrying with little thought of arriving. A flat wax, misty day quiets the travelers holding handles and scratched metal poles, attempting to remain upright as the subway attacks their gravity. Trench coats and book bags sway as cars tunnel noisily through a labyrinth … More TRAVELERS


Blue heavens and fair winds Find favor above clouds. A multiple spattering of voices linger under a sea of skies, busily reshaping without notice from below. A misty day resembling spilled wax quiets travelers; hands hold subway handles and scratched gray metal poles. Fast with a furious sway the tunneling of trench coats and briefcases … More UNDERGROUND