god i love this city

God, I love this City

We were smoking grass, sitting on the wooden staircase leading to the back door
of the 45 Club on a steamy summer’s night, blanketed in dark sticky, clinging damp
heat, blowing blue smoke at the grimy stars, as cars slid by like panthers in the street,
through the fiveways, past the inland empire, past the cathouse and casinos as the cops stood
clumped in clowders – sweating nervously, shuffling, edgy, tense in the deep, inviolate
blackness down below,
but we sit, oblivious
to the world outside our selves. God, I love this city

The lovers in the alleyway behind the 45 Club come running in for shelter as the
thunderhead bursts open and silver rain comes tumbling down and you throw your
arms wide open and your black hair, wet and tangled sticks across your shoulders
as the water soaks your blouse through and I feel it cool and clear upon my face…
…and you’re dancing
in the deluge – the gutters burst and ramble wide and I hold you to me closely as the
thunderbolts come screaming from out of hell, in heaven…  God, I love this city

It’s the empire of the garbagemen, you’re in a gangfight with the raindrops, she’s twelve
sleepless nights of heat in a row and nowhere, nowhere, nowhere to go. The rain washes
nothing away as the heat sets in again. We’re skipping through a wonderland that smells
of oil and rubber of endless junk lanes and alleyways and gay bars by the harbour. There’s
Southern preachers on TV and southern Belles in bathers and everyman’s philosophy as
frontline entertainment and the night is an old, old friend where the pretty lights play
for the tourists
and the suburbs are full of prisoners… God, I love this City

She’s like a woman who lets you love her for comfort of her body and not the highness of her mind
She is eyes of amethyst and thighs that never cry cease and desist
She’s downtown religion, through every arch and bridge and welcome alley
and shimmering preternatural waters, unholy in her righteousness, Canton, Camden, Brooklyn,
Forberfor, Hollerton, Gay Street ‘n’ Ridgley’s Delight
The Iron Highway, Casimir Pulaski, Railroads to the ya-ya, highways to the yes-yes. This is the graveyard of the American Nomad, the Cadillac ranch at the end of the hillbilly highway
New York wants the poor and huddled masses –
this city wants the assfucked the heartbroke the third timers, the smalltimers, the defrocked, disbarred, the rednecks, the rubberdicks, the rejects, firesetters, the unpretty queens,
downey aysuhn she drinks me in
on endless summers days, me, him, her, all of us, tumbled in the second of the second cities

This entry was published on 02/06/2009 at 8:33 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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