a poem

Who came before (New York City) Ocean Ave 1/8/07

At midnight I am nothing
neither alive nor awake.
Spectral and concentrate.

I listen out the window as the car alarms ring out
as the car horns shout,
at hookers on the their lunch breaks.

I listen through the door,
as the neighbors try to get in,
pushing my door back and forth.

I listen through the floor while my neighbors fuck loudly
there is not peace at 2 am
there is no time for sleep.

I watch as the sun breaks over the building
imagining the view from the Yorkville
But brooklyn has its charms.

II

Miles Davis plays loudly, Gershwin cresendoes into oblivion.
I check my window locks, and draw my blinds again.
I hum Etta James as I find my keys.

I check my mail box, find Fitzgerald with my bills,
Parker is in the New Yorker, I read it on the Q,
Ginsberg sits quietly watching the Williamsburg bridge.

Patti Smith walks with me down Delancy,
and then leaves me there for Mapplethorpe,
But I'm meeting Joey Ramone for coffee at 10

Basquait works for Three Lives & Company
He recomends the Warhol Biography
But I go with Pollock, he makes more sense.

III

I ran into Audrey on 57th, offered her some Cresants
she's on a diet, and she was wearing black.
I'll go ask Capote.

Whittam asked me where I was from,
He sat down while Joey was in the Bathroom.
I told the Middle of nowwhere, somewhere east of Queens.

Lennon and Ono, what a wonderful couple.
But they're nowhere near as nice as Julius and Ethel
Davidson needs work on his social skills.

IV

Back on Ocean I listen for the gun fights,
for the fist fights
for the robbers.

I listen to the honkers honking,
the hookers hooking
and the po po po-poing

I listen to the creeks from the ceiling
the moans of the evening
and the wind from the world.

I crawl into bed, as Miles blares out another,
as Coltrane bears his soul
as Etta and Ella and Billie bear all.

I think of the middle of now where
how I got here
where I'm going

I think of who came before.


I dont know if this poem makes any sense but there it is.