Tag Archives: Brooklyn

Between Stations

Posted on November 9, 2019 by

   I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and bright green tank-top walking in my direction. Her hair was a bushel of unruliness. As the girl drew nearer … Continue reading →

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Henry Valentine Miller

Posted on February 14, 2019 by

Because his middle name was Valentine, a V-Day tribute poem to that “boy from Brooklyn,” Mr. Henry Valentine Miller,  from my book Arclight. Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spray paint … Continue reading →

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Promontory

Posted on December 12, 2018 by

I, perched on a craggy promontory overlooking my childhood, and its entire formless geography, saw them, my friends, all of them: a mutant strain of cryogeny, a mummified quivering changelessness, as if youth hadn’t been lived through but pickled. It … Continue reading →

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The Lovers

Posted on December 12, 2018 by

   What are we gonna do with ourselves Daniel?    Like right now?    Like ever. Are you gonna go to college?    I don’t know, but I don’t think so.    Why you’re smart?    I hate school. You … Continue reading →

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Center of Nowhere

Posted on December 12, 2018 by

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn: I come from nowhere Daniel, and nowhere is the exact center of the world. Isn’t that exciting?    I agreed with Anya that it was, even though I wasn’t sure what she meant. And I … Continue reading →

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Geist

Posted on November 25, 2018 by

Memory, like stone tapes, like hardened slabs of analog recalling the icy geist of my childhood in a Brooklyn basement, revisited.

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Ghosting

Posted on June 15, 2018 by

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading →

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Scandinavia

Posted on June 14, 2018 by

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale)   I am standing over myself: a runt-skinny kid lying flat on his stomach, right elbow hunched, the stubby pencil in his left hand ferociously scribbling on a piece of unlined white paper.  … Continue reading →

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Hot Pockets by Lamplight

Posted on June 12, 2018 by

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Jimmy’s apartment was.  When I got to his door, I knocked, not expecting an answer, and not getting one.  I turned the knob, expecting … Continue reading →

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The Phantom Itch

Posted on June 12, 2018 by

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) There’s not really a name for what I do.  I am not an investigative journalist, I am not a private eye.  I am not a minstrel essayist.  There are many things that I … Continue reading →

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