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Monday, April 4, 2011

National Poetry Month April 2011 2/30

April's Cruel April Fools on Gothamites, A Poem in Single Sentence Prose, April 2, 2011

April's cruel April Fools took us by surprise, as true blue New Yorkers we watched her perspective and view, and bowed our heads in confused befuddled some bemused and all dirtily used as canvas for the Queen of Spring, the Announceresse of all things beautiful not the least of which is known, differently, by all as love; as we watched her perform with those at her beck, with beaks and feathers answering her call; we had our urban smarts, our street stories, our subway, taxi, transit tales tucked tidy up under our belts; we had our head and body gear spewing the long commentaries on who we were and who we wanted to be and what we wanted known that perhaps we did not even ourselves yet observe, the commentaries that conversed with each other at the line for the morning coffee or in the elevator going down, volumes of non verbal exchanged in split second dances that spanned human emotion, condition, and imagination, making it quite clear to us Gothamites who amongst our hallowed halls--by their gawking or their eyes overly averted, by their over attentive ears or their too tentative or a tad too authoritative step, by thier eyes wide open or furtive ... in all God's colors... calculated to convey an urban cool downloaded and appropriated by many from half hours of NYPD blues or other emissions equally cheap and quick produced and scheduled to turn profit for the very few, were all together too new, green in fact as the spring we lunged for while April the Goddess of all that we know her to hold over and under our flow wondered from a perch at our not picking up the feed she had put down now nearly one full day and a half, where dawn's early hours had seen the exchange from beds of day trippers to trains with the flow towards beds of night dwellers of influenced heads, all sun starved regardless of melonomatic persuasion and thirst, all familiar with cock roaches and rats that ran from green bags in packs against backdrops, all having paid way too much for something very recently and thought Dear Lovely April did she how none listened despite her lovely, despite the green bursting up in cordoned patches and along the five borroughs watery edges and various parks, it was crystal clear as reflected in the crowd whether they resided in Park Place, Park Avenue, or had a place in the park...that none of her presence left much of a mark or a dent in their comings, goings, and such...that still I was depressed and you were pissed off, so in an impish rush of vernal delight, April let noon bells whistle and chime; and lowered the sound strip of hand held device, the beep and the ring by an octave or two and raised the screech of the wind down the Avenues, and equally enhanced the sound of ambulance and trains, to a deafening note while overhead the birds all defecated as one, in a single silent solid slop.

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