Bill Berkson

We walk or roll along the river’s edge
next to skyscrapers that may not escape
remote controlled flying objects
We are far from the ocean’s moonlight
reflection, as gravity weighs heavier
than usually felt on a silent city sunrise
still far enough away from flooding time
the brain can only take so much high tide
when hypnogogic rarity gathered evidence
evidence of unbelievable language seen
Seen like colored fumaroles emitted from
each key stroke of the Smith Corona typewriter
found later to change people’s minds

On yellow paper Bill Berkson had his head
above the water and soldiered onward
never a coward to acknowledge genius
and remark on any uphill travails
like climbing over an East Hampton dune
A sun glare delight brushed across
blue billboards announcing
who is the bee’s knees and a toast
to many more parlor car pleasures
couldn’t be any less exact but
we get the point and enjoy the rhythm
above different weather than night’s
weight keeping our life’s secrets