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New York isn’t what it used to be….Chicago… Philly….DC; DC’s always been a town of jack-off’s…so yes… some things never change….

The classes grow farther apart….the blacks feel more oppressed….whites think the short end has fallen to them….everyone a victim….an historic undercoating now shines brightly….the truth no longer dulled….We all got fucked….

It has become a competition for the winners of the worst in America…..The dwindling middle class has become cliche….the working class reduced and reduced and reduced in the melting pot to nothing more than a scent….a slight flavoring….Sop it up…..

But…..there are still bundles and bouquets in bodegas…. $1 slices…bagels with schmears on the EBT….and entertainment on every corner…

Among the hungry….the filthy… the strugglers….all of God’s children….there is hope…..some knd of fucking hope…..

And that is what’s left…..No longer a card to be played…. all have been dealt for a final hand…..and you just might get lucky….
.

Children beware of men in trench-coats with bare calves….

Women look-out for disgruntled men with fists made from the jawbone of an ass……

Blacks walk on the opposite sidewalk from the boys in blue….maybe they will…..maybe they won’t…..

Mexicans….don’t vote Republican….you’ll be sorry….

Fat white men watch your tongue….your days are numbered….

Homeless vets be thankful for a country to come home to….

Chinese bankers in Beijing….congratulations…..you won…

Management….destroy all union delegates now….the company needs you…

Yoga instructors living in uniforms…stop posing…

Pope Francis….keep trying….

That billionaire televangelist with the hot wife….loan me a couple of bucks….

Real Estate agents…..quit jacking the prices…

America…..stop being America…

Gertrude Stein sits on an oblong dairiaire watching ice melt in New York’s late winter…a change of season comes much too soon….Thanks Dow Chemical…..Thank you Exxon Mobil. …

Pictures are taken….as always…Manhattan’s architecture ignored….selfies shot by pretty things….girls not knowing Gertrude….neither dolled-up boys….Thanks? don’t count on it….

And….tucked away in a book-bag….a collection of words written by Langston Hughes…..The Waldorf still fumes….words hit the mark…

Is he remembered?….is anyone really…..Poems and stories and drunken tales and draft after draft after draft….written out in ink….finalized on a Smith- Corona. …

Gertrude…..Langston…..thank you….New York still has some culture….

Manhattan real estate….properties  in Chelsea….marked-by coats….jackets…newspapers..used coffee cups lined in cream…and $5 7-11 pizza boxes…emptied long ago…..

Yo….you in my spot, A face scarred   and brown is talking to you, Yo…you hear me?

And now one becomes four scarred brown faces…looking and waiting for movement….Take your book-bag/pillow….keep an eye out for vacancies….

But, there are none…..This guy’s looking out for that guy and this bitch be looking out for that hoe and my homeboy be back later-on and you be thinkin’ you smarter somethin’…..

This is how it was done in the pen…you gotta problem wit dat?….See we’s gotta way of doing things….You just got here…..you ain’t got no rights to be claimin’ dick……You feel me…..?

Yes….I feel you……I feel you…Yes I do indeed….

Brown  glistening waters jump and roll and crash and chop and bite and kick….Across town another river does just the same….maybe less bravado….

Flying over Whitman’s Grass……Miller’s Air Conditioned Nightmare…….Mailer’s American Dream…..what must they think of us down below….

God’s chosen making deals on a Manhatta  afternoon as goys jog along concrete paths preparing for a week of folly…..Yale is well represented by blondes in cute caps and young boys playing grown-up….

Manhatta is a mistress….a whore who will part her shimmied  thighs for anyone with a buck to spare…..

Cause…she knows….Manhatta knows the ways and the charms to break us all….

Lurking around in dark morning to creepy light when kids of nighttime sledge home to small boxes….closeted lovers….and Vanity Fair dreams wrapped in silver strands and golden bows….

And yet….this on- going misery….sometimes…melencholy…..sometimes madness….and marvelous as well….leads us on again and again and again….

Count on it….

Same clothes been worn for days now…travel lite….don’t get weighed down….

Hotel sized toothpastes…tiny soaps….little bottles of shampoo…..smaller piece….

Loosies doled out for a buck …..menthol madness…How do we do it? volume….volume….volume…

And on every street corner….in every crevice…..stairwells….public bathrooms….in parks throughout Manhattan…..the burning of blunts….the stinky fresh smell of burning herb….? Kids…grown-ups….hip-hop clothed….fatigues as well….all burning leaves….

K2 freaks walking around Union Square… stragglers from the Needle Park days…mixed into playgrounds…ball courts…looking and looking and looking for a score…..stealing packets of sugar where ever they can find it..  McDonald’s…..Dunkin’ Donuts…making sweeps through the streets for junk….pills….methadone…..a sweet taste of something..

We’re all in search of something….a mission….a mecca. ..

It never ends…

Mingus moanin’ in Times  Square….hear ’em….drivin’ horns uptown…rhythm section scatterin’….never missin’ a beat….never missin’ a beat….

Mingus moanin’…..the dapper Dan’s and the Suzy Q’s walk in form….going off to a commencement in commerce while a young trick is ployed, Here…look fat and say a baby’s on the way, Some folks’ll buy anything…

Mingus moanin’ and there’s  no sign of a Bop revolution…rejuvinication…no rejoicing…. just Elmo….Mickey and Minnie….crying out to pimps….prophets of doom…..policemen dolled-up in blues….Midwestern tourists lost in the shuffle….

Always lost….always….we never find ourselves no matter how hard we look…..it ain’t gonna’ happen

Mingus moanin’ in Times Square…
listen…..listen…

The bus took Westside Highway up to 92nd….dodging fast cars…semi-trucks…taxi-cabs…. and junkies in junkers trying to get out of Dodge quick as they can…..their souls left in a city with no tolerance for the weak… winners and losers….Guess who won…..

Word word word word word….That song keeps playing over and over….every hour on the hour….Word word word word tell me what you heard heard heard heard…..Vagabonds singing along to this incoherent hip-hop hoe-down of nothing…..absolute nothing…..”I ain’t takin’ the rap for no rap,” Gil Scott Heron.

The bus keeps swerving and moving faster with an ear-phoned driver…..one eye on traffic….the other on Facebook….

Word word word word….tell me what you heard heard heard now….And a drunk Southern  queen won’t stop rambling-on about Shoe fly pie and Apple cream….Made by a mom years ago when somebody cared…..

So….ear-plugs are placed….and Bill Evans plays On Green Dolphin Street…Philly and PC make time eloquently. ….

Now there is peace….

Sitting in a shelter next to a guy in a dress with beard stubble and a brooch…Sometimes things just work out this way….

I see your reading Erica Jong, He says softly….almost secretively…She’s very good….very erotic….sexual, A cupped hand covers the mouth, Jong is like an intelligent Andrew Dice Clay, Takes a pill from a daily dispenser, Don’t you find?

Sis…I’ve been homeless off and on for nearly five years now ….And …I’ve heard some strange shit….believe me…..But…that is truly the most bizzare…In fact…..I don’t even know how to respond….other than….No….Erica Jong is not anything like Andrew Dice Clay…..At all…

The pill case was placed back in a blue-jean purse with an ivory Victorian face dangling from a zipper, Well….no-body’s perfect….

God love ya Sis…..God love ya..

Resting in a Catholic Church basement ….reading poetry by Erica Jong….Surrounded by freshly released sex offenders, a few muggers, some thieves, and a couple of crazies…..Be still….just be still….

Next week is daylight savings time, The junkie quips, It’s done for Con- Edison so they can save electricity, Sips from a paper cup filled with cough medicine….

Really? a voice under covers asks….You buy that?

Yes….That’s why it is….That’s what I’d heard….I’m not going to question logic…

Erica was taking me all in….a beauty.. honesty….sexiest Broad to ever write the English language…

These corporations own the way we do everything….Even the country’s clocks….The springing ahead…..The falling behind….That’s what I’d heard…

Come-on Erica….Let’s get back to business…