Once
There was always that
First encounter:
My face in the mirror,
Still hostage to sleep,
My eyes looking distant
And hurt.
The razor's swift passage
Through aerosol soap,
My cheeks newly smooth
To the touch.
Did I feel like that
Chap in Ulysses?
The walk to the subway
From where I then lived --
Or often some woman's
Apartment --
Seldom succeeded
In shifting my thoughts
To the humdrum of
Income deferred.
Would I ever find action
In that?
Did I swagger with purpose
Or merely conceit?
Was meaning just mood
In disguise?
Was mission the issue
Or just an excuse,
A pretext for
Drawing my pay?
How I loved when that
Envelope came.
I'd mastered the basics
Then failed to engage,
Preferring to pass
Or retreat,
A clever convincer
With searing contempt
And a slave to the
Whims of the night.
JAD, 2022
A Sense
Ripples of memory
That radiate out
Into widening circles
Of waves
Germinate swaddled
In dreams.
Why is the past so
Persistently here
If also so hopelessly
Lost?
Yeats had an inkling
Chagall may have glimpsed,
A sense the eternal
Is near.
JAD, 2022
Opportunism
I notice you're playing
With words again,
Attempting to
Hustle your point.
Is the word, opportunist,
What needs to be pruned
Or perhaps the discreet
Opportunist?
The difference is telling to
Those you've deceived.
They know the word's meaning
And you.
JAD, 2022
What World?
Awakened Manhattan,
Recalling its strengths,
Is taking those
Deepening breaths.
The traffic is denser;
The pavements, recharged;
The energy, ready
To surge.
Yet, what world is coming,
Which dimly foreseen,
Will sabotage much
We hold dear.
JAD, 2022
Tudor Place 