An Old Gramophone Lullaby for the Midnight Orchid of the Bowery     I love Central Park in the Fall. The city feels fresher and cleaner for some reason. As I walked past the Zoo, I heard a kid crying. I...

The sun doesn't wear its hat anymore  And the contents of the heart Spill onto the floor Your thoughts are the only thing Truly Yours  When the fascists  Are gently tapping  At the door 

Half-past midnight on a winding road Limited visibility in this blanket of fog High stakes guilt for a debt still owed Witness stifled at the bottom of a bog   Somewhere between living and dying Where routines are locked into memory Invading privacy so deliberately prying Pounded...