Brooklyn — Boerum Hill
I woke up to find A “No Standing” sign by my door A pretty, precipitous fall Watching me from below And a black bird sweeping The streets with his better wing singing: “Life’s hard, kid.” The fountain across the street winked at me, said it prefers a falling babe to flying trash and up above yellow lights led me down New York’s faces each begging pardons taking words burning and turning East then West and I swear, right then and there, everything that happened was happening to me.
Brooklyn — Boerum Hill
I woke up to find A “No Standing” sign by my door A pretty, precipitous fall Watching me from below And a black bird sweeping The streets with his better wing singing: “Life’s hard, kid.” The fountain across the street winked at me, said it prefers a falling babe to flying trash and up above yellow lights led me down New York’s faces each begging pardons taking words burning and turning East then West and I swear, right then and there, everything that happened was happening to me.
