wet

i left the house with no memory card in the g2
so, tant pis, i didn't get to photograph the pumpkin
in the corner at the foot of the stairs at the vandam street exit
of the spring street station.

at strand
i found a copy of a book of poems by Phyllis McGinley that contains a poem i memorized in junior high but never got to recite because i was sick on the day of the big assembly.



I've been looking for that poem for years - i remember most of it but it was cool to read the missing pieces.

insomnia

insomnia is like unrequited love.
what does that make ambien cr?

all the spices on my shelves are more than 15 years old
according to the mccormick spices site.

the montauk fluke at 10 downing tonight was
raw on the inside. was it a fluke?
the din was unbearable.

i love these mosaics at the houston st. station

buy buy buy

black friday is the real holiday.
thanksgiving is just the way to fuel it.

never one to buck tradition I dutifully
made my way to the strand bookstore.

the photos are fragments of bus shelter ads
mademoiselle coco parfum and john varvatos.
i liked the hands. and the reflections

giving thanks

for words and pictures,
being able to share them
and the folks who appreciate them.

because it's time

not the best of or the worst of.
just the night before thanksgiving and the sun has gone down
and it's raining
and i want to stop going in circles
and see if a narrative thread will take me in some other direction...

here's a photograph that sums up my mood at the moment:
double exposure: rainy night in marrakech.