Let some sad trumpeter stand on the empty streets at dawn and blow a silver chorus to the buildings of Times Square, memorial of ten years, at 5 AM, with the thin white moon just visible above the green & grooking McGraw Hill offices a cop walks by, but he's invisible with his music The Globe Hotel, Garver lay in grey beds there and hunched his back and cleaned his needles - where I lay many nights on the nod from his leftover bloody cottons and dreamed of Blake's voice talking - I was lonely, Garver's dead in Mexico two years, hotel's vanished into a parking lot And I'm back here - sitting on the streets again - The movies took our language, the great red signs A DOUBLE BILL OF GASSERS Teen Age Nightmare Hooligans of the Moon But we were never nightmare hooligans but seekers of the blond nose for Truth Some old men are still alive, but the old Junkies are gone - We are a legend, invisible but legendary, as prophecied | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOBBIN-WINDER by JOSEPHINE ELIZABETH ARCHER FOAM STRAY by JOSEPH AUSLANDER ECHOES OF SPRING: 2 by MATHILDE BLIND BLEUE MAISON by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WINDS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE NIGHT HERDER by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |