Pier 54

six hours pass and yet the men need more
time to climb bridges to Manhattan's shore.
i have begun to lose count of the score
of bugs and mice and mats upon the floor.

the sound of morning clock and slamming door
are heralds to my architecture chore.
my dear siblings i certainly adore
i see and know that "we will watch them soar."

what now becomes of men who fought in war
and writers who do write of love and gore
when their old hearts, young spirits, shall long for
the days they embraced old pier fifty-four?

Scrape

A city
a change of pace.

What makes a man feel like a gear?
What makes a gear move the machine?

Desire?
The colors of a flag?
The rays of the city sun?

As a rainbow missing red
cannot fill the sky
a life without a reason
must ask why

Why are things big? Why are they small?
Why do buildings grounded low choose to stand tall?

Where does work end? How does it begin?
How can a losing man decide to win?

Time crawls
or goes too soon

We have full days to live
Under the sun
and city moon.