Untitled

Sunday Morning
Upper West Side.
Fourth floor walkup
Here, I abide.
Pigeons screwing
Out on the ledge,
I'm still living
Here, on the Edge.

Three more days,
then who knows
where my pathway
onward goes.
Down to chelsea
Possibly,
To the east side?
We shall see...

Rain is pouring
Out of the sky.
Weather like this
Makes my heart fly.
Back at home, it's
Like this, all year;
Misty beaches
Call to my ear.

In this city to
Which I've committed
I've yet to see whether
I can be fitted.
Outreach goes out, yet
Little comes in,
Jobs that call out to me
Don't call me in.

I'm here and stayin'
Said that I would
Day out and Day in
Makin' it good.
Off in the distance
Hear some faint rumblings,
Thus I am hoping
This Dark soon be crumbling.

No further reportage
Made at this time,
'Til there be something
A bit more sublime...

KO