January 2, 2017

It’s how we find the path

we lost our way on once before,

the path we find ourselves

traveling once more.

Again, from the start.

Trigonis 1/01/17

Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado,...

December 27, 2016

I dropped 30¢ and a letter on a sandwich he left at the bar,

took a bite because it needed taking under the 

hot sun lamps –– smut on my nose. That 30¢

should be enough to buy a one way phone call to 

another time. Same bar. New me? 

And the letter? 

That’s good for a lap da...

December 19, 2016

Whether waved in noir or Viking blond or

whiskey finished with war hammer

curls or earth toned as the ground on which

every step ahead treads heavier than

the tracks we leave behind, the hairs that

drop from our boyhood heads are pure.

Those same strands, once soldier str...

December 12, 2016

The David Bowie mural shines brightest in the

blackest stardust. 

In 2016, everyone had an Election Day playlist. 

What was yours? 

A wise woman once said, “you’ve always been crazy, 

this is just the first chance you’ve had 

to express yourself.” 

Those Dems. Those Dems. Sin...

December 5, 2016

Old ‘89

Crashed my lightning blue ’89 Cavelier into the 1&9

divide after the Giants won Superbowl XLII.

So I wandered the Jersey City underworld cloud heavy

passed motorcycle hangovers and White Mana

thinking how a lonesome star like mine could get the

moon’s attention witho...

November 28, 2016

I’m having trouble breathing nights since the

morning my America died all too silently
in her sleep.

The coroner said it was an excess of
white blood cells, which are supposed to heal scars,

not multiply them.
But in my America, when you stitch one wound closed,

another...

November 21, 2016

Hard rain pummels panes of glass while wet rings take

residence where our drinks once bled out

onto the hardwood bar while we waited for the next

2:19 out of each other’s minds. For good.

Behind the counter, a Marilyn Monroe nibbles on her 

pencil, then jots down some digit...

November 14, 2016

I watch the little red-headed Filipina

collect the candles from the café tabletops 

and blow them out one by one.

All except mine. Without a glance, she assumes 

I need the light.

That’s how you know you’ve become

a regular––when the waitress keeps a flame

burning for you at...

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