r i g h t i n g

for the past few months
i had been planning this epic love letter whose destination evolved from a girl
to the world
maybe not even evolved
that sounds too cocky
distorted is more fitting
each piece was a small poem of sorts
which was rewritten only once on an individual piece of paper
numbered, signed, and folded.
the plan was to hand out these pieces to strangers in new york city just as a
sort of gift to mankind
a reminder that there is still empathy alive
in the meat we can't eat.
over a two day visit i did manage to give away over fifteen of these pieces to:


- a 30something caribbean man named manly jules

- a smartass college couple who ended up with something not even involved with the project after i let them skim through my notebook

- drunken fratboys who asked if i knew where to obtain some l s d

- a beautiful girl who actually came back to my sitting place to praise me for the poetry

- a hispanic immigrant who thought i was hurt

- a homeless man looking for change and/or porn

- a junkie who half-awake recited his selection outloud and beaming
because i had also agreed to roll him a cigarette

- a brooklyn plaza security guard who had recently found his god and most willingly gave me two
dollars for the meaningful conversation

- an asian man who spoke no english but lent me a cigarette anyway

- a man with his chair against an outside wall who encouraged my spontaneity

&

- a younger black boy who i befriended at a free concert and as a trade let me read his
lifeview which he kept on him at all times as a note on his cellphone

i still had a breakdown at the end and destroyed all the backlogs of the poems
and not to stroke my own ego
but there was some fucking good ones in there

regardless

the experience was appreciable and now i'm a self-proclaimed writer of sorts (ha!)

there was one piece that survived this whole excursion
it crept into my brain as i blushed
the one that was given away to the
attractive woman

sorry manly jules

:

let's make it
easy now

take our time

see the worth of
holding onto
something
and only then
let the static
that seems to fall from the ceiling of things

knock it away again

.