From time to time I am fortunate enough to make it to New York state. It’s gorgeous a place. The Hudnson North line is also one of my favorite places to write. On a recent trip I wrote this staring out the window:
It’s Easter Sunday and The Dead Are Rising
Neon spray painted code words guide the observant travelers down rust gilded tracks along the Hudson
To art galleries beneath underpasses.
There homeless poets and vagabond philosophy students discuss the
aesthetics of 21st century wanderlust to the beat of train engines
They ponder their identities as middle class white kids painting red, black and green portraits of Frank Little on the east bound Hudson line train labeled “working class hero.”
Some day soon I’ll turn those lines into a poem. For now, I have a few albums from travels in the Empire State.