I’m not sure what Tennessee Williams’ play A Streetcar Named Desire has to do with the Brooklyn Bridge.

I am sure what they both make me feel.

Unaccomplished. Anxious. Incomplete.

Distracted. Discouraged. Defeated.

Inspired. Unbridled. Unfettered.

I wish I could live among both of them.

Two big dreams, suspended, girded.

Riveted dreams. Lantern-covered light.

I can touch both.

Run them through my fingers, curl their sounds around my tongue.

Rage and cry and run and applaud.

Swear never again, and come back every time.

A fading beauty with secrets under lace and steel. But I see it, dark and light, under eyes and lost on a pillow.

I can curl around both.

Tracks and heat,

a shot never did a Coke any harm.

A date from the start.


On the tracks,

In front of me,


On the way,


Back Around

Back Around

I knew if I waited you’d come

back around


out from the covers

you hide under

Keeping out the light

You said,

and I heard,

but then you went

back around

While I went forward

and forward and forward

And you were there

told me to go on ahead

you’d be

back around

You were there


Even though you said

and I heard

Maybe I didn’t hear.

But you said.

Maybe you didn’t hear.

Behind the smile

Behind the tears

Water for another flower

Mistake for another night

Try as I might,

The strings pull me

Back around.

And I can’t find my scissors.

Use them on myself,

Cut it all to shreds

but god damn if I can

Slide the these threads

Between the blades

So I bring the loops back around

Knitting closed

the dropped steps

And hoping the stitches hold


until I can bring myself

Back again.