20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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Under the Brooklyn Bridge

The traffic and the lights are what drew me here.

And then I saw the buildings and gasped in surprise.

How do they make the buildings so high?

I walk the streets and up and down the steps I go.

Subways seem loud but in all reality it’s pretty tranquil down here.

Alone in a world of a billion people.

No where to turn in a world of a million streets.

How does one get lost with these numbered signs?

32nd. St.  33rd. St. and so on and so on.

A tiny cafe is bustling with the morning crowd.

This is not my place.

A dive bar at the corner near an alley with a few people sleeping on cardboard bed.

This is not my place.

Under a bridge, sand and water all around.

A pen and a notebook in my hand.

This is my place to find myself.

My place to be who it is I am to be.

Dreaming………..  always dreaming.

 

Image

Photo courtesy of http://wirednewyork.com/brooklyn_bridge_wtc.htm


1 Comment

The A Train

We’re riding together but sit worlds apart.

The stockbroker, the mother, the hobo living in separate realities, yet riding in the same car.

The A Train zips from beaches to hoods to ground zero.

Our liberal metropolis is a kingdom of progressive “niceties”.

The A Train is a silver chariot carrying us through our politely segregated city.

Photo Credit: NYC Transit Museum

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