Hold on tight where you sit you just might fall off into the deep grey of old New York and on York Street the poets of another tribe sang to me and said that:

This is the drum beat of an open heart. No tears shed for those who do not open their mind their hearts their legs their soul there is no control on the coastline of a raging sea. And when he asked me “what do you stand for?” “Nothing” I replied “nothing at all nothing I fall nothing this is” and I scream for it to be more than my inner reality… My time my energy this is me. Rekindle the spark of another lifetime when life was cruel when life was real I awaken from this dream still groggy loosing time I fail I fall I trip I collide and you ask me you ask me why - why have you performed this sin my child and I hold my hands upon my head and I say this is simply because I do not love myself when I think of you and your acerbic mind but you will find that I have arisen and I am stronger than your bloody wrist that you twist in onanism.

Myself another Angel in the wading pool another fool provoked into madness I so badly want a cigarette but not just yet only when I have become the empty valve of a chamber that cried to be filled with this bloody beat of the feet of the crowd in endless hallways of the concourse they’ve buried us beneath in steel and in wrapped twisted veins of steel I steal this memory and proclaim it my own.