My Movie Idea

The New York sightseeing bus that just went by: The poet stands up
with a microphone in his hand.  The tourists occupy every seat in the

roofless, double-decker bus.  They all ride in different attitudes of
sleep as the “tour-guide” feeds words to the dreams of this sleeping
audience.  As we gaze down from the café of the Renzo Piano

building on West 120th Street, air conditioned with high, glass walls,
what occasions a privileged perch such as this?  Meanwhile, a green

balloon breaks free! and rises up and goes where the avenues ride --


Just blow off the steam, he said, and that’s it! even if that was the
mega-star that just went by on his bicycle it makes things a little more

elegant so the ball moves a lot slower, but the lengthening wedge that
you represent means everything to me, especially at this time of day

when the others busy themselves to back away twisting down empty
stairs, or across promenades and green grass enameled by

that part of you which is drawn to our reflections with a foreign tongue
assiduously probing mellow lights, cross-currents the perfume hatches

certain flowers, these and ever rolling waves behind us at sunset
cupped even as they spread out mounting ever wider across a quarter

hour when comes the brightening of the quarter moon and our body’s
transformation into silhouette against the mauve fingered end of day,

undulant and voluptuous --

Miraculous these coastal waters, free of all pleasure craft.