Fresh Poetry

I have been punched in the face
my nose exploded in a torrent of
Blood

More than once

I have fallen off a scaffold and had my hand lacerated to the tendon
As it went through a stained glass window

There’s nothing passive about bleeding or blood

It is an active part of life.

The poet once said, “New York seduced me”
She got that right.

One night I rented a room in the Chelsea Hotel
It cost 65 dollars. I left a poem in a bottom drawer
With a copy of SCREW magazine
And another one on the bed.

I wanted to be a great poet, I got hooked
On New York instead.
It wasn’t hard; she gives you what you like
And I have a
High tolerance for pain
And a low resistance to pleasure

So I still wander these streets
of a million doors
and a million floors
and 8 million stores

But the New York I knew is in the rear view
The City has changed and I walk
like a ghost among her ruins
looking for Robert Mapplethorpe, Keith Haring, Patti Smith
and John Lennon.

And all that’s real
Is the taste of blood
Inside my mouth.