New York City
Wind
factory sound light roar
like sleeping in washing machine or
jumping taxi corners.
Smells like
sweet sick basements
alley kitchens, pans and
great spaghetti vats.
Revolving doors of truck faces
and pink gloved ladies.
Dark woman watch,
they’re waiting on corners
“and nice ones too.”
Tell it to the moon
that you want,
to your buddies
beer and sandwiched
at dirty tables,
“niggers” you won’t let your children
go to bed with them.
Wind send dust messages
to hurrying from bars to taxis,
that it’s going to rain
on your theaters
brocade evening coats
June night.
Sky down on your buildings
sticks
scraps of papers
to your walls
streaks
windows, fogs
glasses going up hotel steps
brown streamed.
And tomorrow
something of a sun of
brown grey sky
and all the moving
over its reflection.
III
And tomorrow
street ache
blows along with papers
by air conditioned air
out the doors of
you don’t dare stand by too long
old man
cop moves along
tiny boy
scrounging in garbage,
heavy hand on hair
on shoulders arms
the heat
down into hollow
black arteries of train shivers
to other swept into corners,
alleys
of thrown out rubbers,
underwear, bottomless, and
bugs.
IV
My words only meant to
touch
you
jump from
as if they were
barbs you
turn from
the gentle of me
hurts you
and I cry for
the wounds
and afraid to touch.
All this from the city heat
and want for eating
Yes
This is “the road” and
I long for “A smell of the sea”
factory sound light roar
like sleeping in washing machine or
jumping taxi corners.
Smells like
sweet sick basements
alley kitchens, pans and
great spaghetti vats.
Revolving doors of truck faces
and pink gloved ladies.
Dark woman watch,
they’re waiting on corners
“and nice ones too.”
Tell it to the moon
that you want,
to your buddies
beer and sandwiched
at dirty tables,
“niggers” you won’t let your children
go to bed with them.
Wind send dust messages
to hurrying from bars to taxis,
that it’s going to rain
on your theaters
brocade evening coats
June night.
Sky down on your buildings
sticks
scraps of papers
to your walls
streaks
windows, fogs
glasses going up hotel steps
brown streamed.
And tomorrow
something of a sun of
brown grey sky
and all the moving
over its reflection.
III
And tomorrow
street ache
blows along with papers
by air conditioned air
out the doors of
you don’t dare stand by too long
old man
cop moves along
tiny boy
scrounging in garbage,
heavy hand on hair
on shoulders arms
the heat
down into hollow
black arteries of train shivers
to other swept into corners,
alleys
of thrown out rubbers,
underwear, bottomless, and
bugs.
IV
My words only meant to
touch
you
jump from
as if they were
barbs you
turn from
the gentle of me
hurts you
and I cry for
the wounds
and afraid to touch.
All this from the city heat
and want for eating
Yes
This is “the road” and
I long for “A smell of the sea”