Riding scaffold at night reminds me a little of climbing in the canyons in
Brice or Escalante on rock face with only moonlight to guide you . Only here
in NYC there is no cactus; except if you consider the union steward that
doses warmly
under the greasy fingered sport pages of the Post a genius of cacti..
At a thousand feet (60 stories) its cold with a cutting wind that will make
you slap your mother and move South. What I like most are those little
zephyers(15-25 mph gusts) that catch the rig and hold it 8ft off the building
for 90 seconds.Then just dies as suddenly as it came letting you wall smash
like Wylie E. Coyote..
with his new Acme prototype.
So here then is a little poetry for my friend the moon who on this occasion
I could not directly see and to all those who have "ridden rigs" at
night>Michael
La Lune sur le Pan Am
The moon ; my fickle friend ,
rises late and like a teasing lover
shows herself naked in the reflected glass
of the stone and steel canyons
that are her boudoir mirrors
.
She stands there shivering and shimmering in majestic heights
adorned by the Chrysler and Empire lights
that kiss her hushed beauty with nocturnal delight
competing with stars all through the night .
We are not jealous of her
No ,for like us ;
she is here but short hours
to rise an toil among Gods towers
.
Michael (from a stonemasons journal)