Seeking a sieve in a seam,
where the bit of the truth that was a lie slipped through early, like on a 4:45 slip out the door when they were at the water cooler and thought you were tipping the delivery driver with petty cash and making a deposit later. You caught the B for once before the usual 3 Ds and actually transferred to the Q before the Guardian Angels yawned and Sliwa was sharing his dream for NY: sanctuary city for cats. The sieve in the seam/seem hit a not(knot) of winds that showed New Yorkers’ true selves. They truly couldn’t care less if you were the gayest – they just wanted you to get the hell outta the way because wha? They were walking there, right? A million get outta here’s ring with an accent that now is more common out on longguyland than anywhere else. If every day ends like a seam in a sieve that seemed to be transparent, but it wasn’t, it was murky, like those sorry foggy icy bathroom windows – shampoo bottles on a windowsill still poke through. If every day ends like the flash-of-after-nothingness-Tony Soprano-said-goodbye-to-us forever-after-tryna-not-stopping-believing, what would that mean? A million bystanders tryna change the channel & calling the cable co. when we thot it faded to black too quickly. No disrespect to Metallica who Faded to Black that 1 time a million times in ’86 before we heard it last with Cliff and didn’t know it was the last time. Finding the sieve in that seam/seem of every little place that closed, that wuz yr NY, the cliché the grey lady likes to remind us we have, to give it up like Bonnie Raitt said, who toldja the sieve was large enough for it to seam/seem you could pass thru w/o getting stuck in a closet for utilities you’ll never use – toss it all in the sieve – it never seemed/seamed like it may be enough room anyway, Tony’s Fade to Black, Steve Perry being the only of a very few who knew what happened in that fade, for him to give the permission, to don’t stop believing and that neighbor who seems to hate you, who’s toldja to get the hella outta the way, didn’t blink when you left in the gothest look ever – and they still told you to move yr car up a few inches – if we minus the memory that gets caught in the seems of a sieve of what we thot we understood – how do we know we’ve not faded to black in tony’s believing (not)