Into The Day

Though veiled in dust and soot and grease
Upon each scene out my window I feast.

From an insane smile, on the rim of this vale,
Beacons stream through Morningside
To clothe naked branch and warm frozen wall.

Framed by the lintels of our exalted homes
Rests the finished canvass, a flawless execution:
“Glowing azure, airshaft domes.”

Down Amsterdam, on the way into Harlem,
Blooming branches pierce the shady sidewalks
Forcing night’s traces to finally leave them.

As silhouettes lighten, the sharp threatening edge
Turns a craggy cliff mountain, rising up from the street,
Into the Gothic gables of Teacher’s College.

Riverside’s lofty bell sends coded signals
To seagulls and planes that pass near its spires
As they watch over the city in their endless spirals.

Into the day, wing spinning, crazed dancers.
Into the day, sing grand, choral answers.
Up vaporous stairs on top of stark towers,
The prodigal sun now ascends the hours.

Through clatter and chatter and over-loud voices,
The music around me is much more than noises.

In the pulse of Broadway’s underground vein
The rush to our places of work and of fame,
Takes us through caverns of darkness and pain.

At Midtown agencies we’re just demographics
To determine the filling of every second of air-time
With messages that all say, “It’s better than sex!”

From posters and loudspeakers come lewd invitations
To “nights out” and “nights in”
And coming to some god for our coronations.

Into the day we all once more run
As a sure needle’s suction draws us to light
In a city far from ― but the same ― as our own.

A diaphanous blanket paints West Twenty-third
While beneath short skirts, bare pale skins glows
To cheers of horns and grinding gears always heard.

Into the day twirl backstage, cash dancers.
Into the day cold facts total answers.
Atop vaporous stairs high over stark towers,
The powerful sun now beams for hours.

Thoughts of angles and gains and persuasions
Fill each work-a-day hour with pseudo-emotions.

Boris Karloff shadows crawl in prostrate poses
Toward the stores of Fifth Avenue
And the East Side’s spacious offices.

On through the park, near Madison’s spats
Actuaries toil in gargoyle mansions,
Figuring life’s odds under gilded, gold hats.

While imprisoned amidst urban crime and pollutions
Behind spiked iron bars and double locks
Gramercy Park maintains its picture-postcard perfection.

‘60s dreams sell at Village foreclosure auctions.
While children of Caesar and Mao enjoy strange marriages
Selling imitation heritage as luncheon bargains.

Magicians arrive at a Downtown pier
To push the Wall Street giants back on their rears
As companies merge and jobs disappear.

Into the day waltz the scheming dancers.
Into the day cry “the people” for answers.
Down vaporous stairs on top of stark towers,
The lingering sun now descends for hours.

April 1988

Excerpts from “Into The Day” appeared in the 1988 American Poetry Anthology, edited by John Frost, published by the American Poetry Association, 1988. It also appears in From These Words (poetry 1973-1988) available for download on this site