1965

I looked for something, an impression, a flash of insight,

a sense of comeraderie, or co-conspiracy…

Just what it was, I really could not say, but it tugged at me

at night

I looked into the eyes of

the Sammies at the U

I wandered along Bleeker Street, I wondered what to do…

I never had a name for the face in my mind.

I let my thoughts wander, perched on the docks of 14th Street,

Legs dangling, plowing through the Sunday Times,

Wondering where a tiny glistening thread of connection might have led.

After so many dead ends,

the rat poison in my father’s mouth,

The assassination of JFK,

I put the flute away.

It was too unbearable to play.

In the tiny church on lower 5th Avenue,

In the sullen faces around Union Square,

In the caves of darkness of the vacuum

That was my soul.

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