Where the heart burns with coal, and feuds,/dry, bereft of pints of whiskey,/ left cloistered, by matter of gender./Listen to the wail from the naval docks,/they resound from Jersey,/let the coal dwindle till your hide freezes/almost magic, like the backdrop of a familiar bus stop, at your foul command. But they made more noise, Manhattan boys,/they broke loose from their playhouse,/dressed in shining armor/they dole out lumps of passion/manage one way or the other/crooked streets unpaved, shot to hell,/rain now features the same/a daughter appears, a picture of health, cheeks aflame./Lips run curled around big teeth/a standing kiss in the backdrop./The morning mist, the art that will change me/in the backyards of the Hudson.
9th Avenue Beauty Rose
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Poetry in Motion 