Oh yes, friend! I'm crazy-
that's just the way I am.
I see sounds,
I hear sights,
I taste smells,
I touch not heaven but things from the underworld,
things people do not believe exist,
I'm going out and get something.
I don't know what.
I don't care.
Whatever's out there, I'm going to get it.
Look in those shop windows at boxes
and boxes of Reeboks and Nikes
to make me fly through the air
like Michael Jordan
While I'm up there, I see Spike Lee.
I asked the mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week.
And the mayor of Gary answered more workmen steal time on the job in Gary than any other place in the United States.
"Go into the plants and you will see men sitting around doing nothing--machinery does everything," said the mayor of Gary when I asked him about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week.
And he wore cool cream pants, the Mayor of Gary, and white shoes, and a barber had fixed him up with a shampoo and a shave and he was east and imperturbable though the government weather bureau thermometer said 96 and children were soaking their heads at bubbling fountains on the street corners.
And I said good-bye to the Mayor of Gary and I went out from the city hall and turned the corner into Broadway.
And I saw workmen wearing leather shoes scruffed with fire and cinders, and pitted with little holes from running molten steel,
And some had bunches of specialized muscles around their shoulder blades hard as pig iron, muscles of their forearms were sheet steel and they looked to me like men who had been somewhere.
They sent me a salwar kameez
&nb sp; peacock-blue,
& nbsp; and another
glistening like an orange split open,
embossed slippers, gold and black
&nbs p; points curling.
Candy-striped glass bangles
&n bsp; snapped, drew blood.
Like at school, fashions changed
&n bsp; in Pakistan -
And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...
That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
Down came jolly Santa, lickety-split
not checking to see if a fire was lit.
He shot out of the chimney
while dancing a fast shimmy-
His job is oft harder than he'll admit!
I was an active and happy person, whose sole hobby was collecting treasures,
As night collects vast amounts of silver, with its precious moonlight measures.
I loved to amass unusual items, like first edition books or movie memorabilia,
Vintage records, ticket stubs and posters, riveting as the scent of a gardenia.
My collection grew large over the years, like fancy blooms that follow the sun,
Strewing mixed colors over mountains and valleys, creating charming visions!
I kept this collection in the detached garage, of my house way up Sunset Hill,
I know how fire feels
I can remember when I see my burns
I know the pain
From searing my skin one too many times
The leaves are flaming,
and crackling in the cold wind,
Deep green is dying.
It's like gold sun's retreating,
or sunset of the season!
Fire tips jump higher
Dancing up and down
Backdropped by Abyss.
Light shines forth