In Massapequa

Mendy, in Massapequa,
something to say.

Massapequa Mendy,
a callused, arthritic hand,

another smooth, dextrous
one, placing it by the wall.

Mendy, the street light,
Massapequa’s, wondered,

it shines different, altered,
binding, understood,

something to say.

Mendy in Massapequa,
something to say.

Having something to say,
an alright state, obtain.

Not usual, not unusual,
Mendy, to obtain.

Pushing into felicities,
this fact. Newly hatched fact,

Massapequa, who,
something to say.

Mendy, Massapequa,
grappled, nothing said.

Having a variation of frequencies,
and the settling of tones;

Mendy, considered.

Previous, his longtime,
in Massapequa, also,

something to say?

Destructed Blues

She/ma Yis\ro/el
A/do\nai e/lo/hei\nu
A/do\nai e/chad

ro/do\do/lo el/e
nai/hei\nai ma/A/A/chad
She—yis

Hey hey Yankel, she do roll
all/ Hey hey Israel
she do roll low

Hey hey Yankel, she do not
miss\ Hey hey Israel
she do no more

Henrietta Szold (P.S. 134)

By the seashore outside in

a broken morning hustle,
lines which form the follow,
onward then to Madison diagonal
is Samuel Dickstein Plaza
minuscule scalene, tired wheeling

backpacks, corduroy dungarees,
visor ball caps, bandannas,
face shields, anything observing
order to blot,

block, so
a hindrance of a
sun-wisdom, bank

and riverside: earful wide melody.