To the Breezy Easy

From the grit-grime-greasy gallows,

the city life,

the Dirty East.

Out from under the apple's thumb,

Where there's burning conversations, concentration, and

anonymity.

Where there's breaks,

and break you's.

Bedbugs,

rent,

subways,

and waiting careers.

 

To the sandy platforms of God,

the Breezy Easy.

Down to where the tide is passing,

where the speech slows,

stopping to be noticed, and noticing 

as the beachhead breaks, and

breaks back again.

Blue Moons, 

shoelessness,

happy-poor, and chanting.

Life.

God.

Sandy peace.