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Image for the poem THE GHOSTS OF BLEEKER STREET

THE GHOSTS OF BLEEKER STREET

i looked for you  
in the Village
but you were gone --
holed up near a warm vent  
in an East Side condo  
or dead  
or just gone,  
basking in some Jamaican sun  
while i froze my poor nads off on Bleeker  
where even the ghosts  
refused me  

and J, that ebony prince  
all the way from Tennessee  
accosting me on Seventh Avenue  
and then there we were  
two southern boys  
poet dilettantes  
in a theater somewhere  
on the East Side  
trying to chant with a few dozen newfangled  
Nichiren Buddhists,  
the key to the whole frozen universe  
in six syllables  
that hummed up through the floor boards  
and rattled the bones of our skulls  
and for all i knew  
those Buddhists were on to something  
but J, it turns out,  
just wanted some dick  
 
and that's the way things went  
in new york city
javalini
Written by javalini
Published
Author's Note
I drove a taxi there, though I didn't know the city very well and would get lost all the time with my fares in the back seat. A trace of southern accent probably saved me from wrath, though every New...
I drove a taxi there, though I didn't know the city very well and would get lost all the time with my fares in the back seat. A trace of southern accent probably saved me from wrath, though every New Yorker I met was kind.
Nam myoho renge kyo, y'all.
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