Friday, July 29, 2011


the city knew my name
'cause i put my mark on it
not in museums or ball parks
or places of culture or industry...
but in taverns and theaters
with twenty-five cent matinees
i sat with painted ladies who
wore too much perfume and
hobbled on cobblestones
in worn-out high heels

the city knew my name 'cause
i left my mark on walls in subway stations
urinals, and bar tops
i used knives or ballpoint pens
so someone might read the date
and somehow know my name

the vanderbilts and carnegies
and all the power brokers of the world...
did it much in the same way
only, they wielded bigger knives
and had their names set in stone
on large edifices
and on philanthropic proclamations
so someone might read the date
and somehow know their names

so, as i contemplate these things
the winds blow sand
'gainst the great pyramids of egypt
and the statue of liberty erodes
and the berlin wall is but a long lost memory
and men compete for power
to be remembered
in cities that soon will forget
because nothing is very important
like a whore in a cheap hotel room
in the end it all gets disheveled
like last nights bed.

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