Brooklyn Postcard

Sneakers on Speedplays, race bike skittering over cracks holes or clack slats of The Bridge, quilting through tourists among which I might be one but I might not, depending on the forgiveness and temporal horizon of the gestalt. This crossing, viscerally visually affectively I’m four or seven years old but vector summed with pedaling motions and abstract angular emotions now. She’s ringing her bell to open a path, I draft and laugh sudden dead stop, unusually alive.

Sunset Park, South America style volleyball, picnics, kites. Hop the road bike onto the path to ride alongside a kid on a big wheel he smiles up, small dogs tug leashes, pink blossoms the bay the skyline the gold light. At a taco truck, crowded cabaret somehow the last tamarindo gets sold right ahead of us.


Grew up in this house, the inexorable cliche of everything seems smaller than interpolated images of out front sitting on a skateboard and skinned knee or don’t get too close to the street or the around the corner grocery store is a substantial walk for small legs and impatience. Chatting reports of neighborhood changes catch a blurred edge astral projection of then though it won’t come out in the photographs, nor will the tears shed behind the camera.

Couldn’t be here without fragmenting across diffusing thicket density if I didn’t know the Code, but I do. Try to explain but give up counting on just knowing.

Head back twilight taillight blinking LEDRED on 5th, the expanding lump in my throat reaches the boundaries of my body and I ride its ascent, this fourteen mile expedition of substantial distance and hopeful courage.