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| "Tracings" by Sandy Beach "The Seer on the Wooden Pillar" by Paul Belz "The World Made from Cacophany" by Paul Belz "Unrequited" by John Birkbeck "Silence" by Curtis Church "In Paradise" by Rosemarie Crisafi "Just a Walk in the Park" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Columbus Circle Crooner" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Lobster Duck" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Floppy Hair in Sunset Years" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Logarithms" by Tony D'Arpino "Lila" by Adriana DiGennaro "A Year of Mourning" by Ruth Dombrow "Conversations with a Naked Ascetic" by Alison Eastley "The Book of Scorpio" by Alison Eastley "Cloud Formations" by Rich Ives "Infancy" by Edith Kur "Hunt, 1831" by Joanne Lowery "Cold Turkey" by Joanne Lowery "Clark Gable as Muse" by Joanne Lowery "Accident in 16 Parts" by Joanne Lowery "Little Pears" by Joanne Lowery "After We Bought a Computer in 1996" by Shawn McLain "Seven Blind Men and the Elephant" by Ram Mehta "What I Want" by Corey Mesler "Stagnation" by Samia Ouederni "On The Walls:" by Marissa Ranello "Urban Cycle" by Marissa Ranello "Midnight Shift" by Cortny Riblett "Thief" by Cortny Riblett "When the Beach is Mine Alone" by Harding Stedler "Enter Stage Left" by Harding Stedler "Superman and Darlene Smith" by Deborah Stinson "Per-millennial Skyline" by Elizabeth Kate Switaj "Under the Umbrella" by Sara Toruno |
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| Columbus Circle Crooner |
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| His jellied legs skate him onto the sardined Nine Trian.
His baggy pants mop subway stations, floppy soled shoes collect rodent droppings. The slick suited, those dragging palates, the book laden , the silver tufted, the diapered of all ages: shaved heads, dreadlocks, saris, suits, a diversity of straphangers . . . That ethnic quilt woven into the city’s subway denizens work at being alone in the crowd. Slowly, but with a kicklines’ unanimity, the passengers twist toward the baronial tones wafting from the ashen tufted troubadour. The underground air shimmers with sounds similar to the lilt of the legendary Cole. “Any song requests?” he asks. The philistine exposes his back and covers his ears. Human silence and subway clangs dominate. The singer shuffles doorward shaking his paltry coin cup. “Thank you,” he says to his teenaged benefactor who comprehends harmony and art despite her alien tastes. Parting, he donates another free song, collects a carload or smiles, but no silver. His gilded voice nearly camouflages his clanky bones as he hops off the 59 th street Central Park, Columbus Circle platform. The music man glides out, stares across the dizzying circle at a flurry of parkbound folk and pauses momentarily beneath the multi statued park gate pimpled with pigeons. The Crooner recharges and crawls back into the tube to begin an encore performance. |
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