morning…sun has not awakened…streets asleep from night’s pounding…no strollers…nor buyers or dealers…just quiet…quiet…
jazz from far away…memories…Madison Park…Bryant…Central…Washington Square…
walks alone…listening…tuned-into surroundings and bop…surroundings and bop…
sitting in libraries…reading Joyce…Beckett…Shepard…poets an’ prophets…poets an’ prophets…
crazies talkin’ to the moon on street corners…drunks…junkies…an’ drag queens out for a buck…Port Authority toilets overflowing…the shit in America starts at 42nd Street…
and it is morning…jazz from Jersey comes in waves…i am elsewhere…elsewhere…
not here…there…floating…floating…wandering in an’ outta darkness…
not ready for light…never wanting light…
do not wait on me shining candle..
i will be gone…
