125 fo St. Nick. @ 120 ((the Harlem Poem))

Night sounds of Harlem Saturday [[[actually Sunday morning

Good-bye Downtown [[[not actually thinking of the Monuments you built

Once there was an island where all humanity dreamed

Dreams of Golden Days/// Dreams of Intrin(sic) culture

BO BOP BOP marching to staccato bells * for those stretching

itchy fingers thumping medium grey beats of Hate

positioned socially (on the installment plan) infected landscape

‘til Knickerbockers are rolling over in Native Amerikan & Indian grave-

yards of History recording so many varied souls of flesh

Manhatta is Manhattan YES Manhattan is Manhattan YES

Splendid! (((Then...))) Manhattan IS Manhattan YES!YES!

Hunting grounds & cemetary for spirits unable to cross water

Proving ground & laboratorium for hypocritical snaking staffs

crazy dirty test tube mixing beaker to prove Love to be

the only chemical component to keep us sane... Love the Beaver

Life lived through the integrity of honest Labours ((priceless))

Love the artists working up in Harlem, post gentrifically trained

from L.E.S.> Time’s Square> Hell’s Kitchen-ette> subways & sidewalks

It is those to keep the heart pumping though four valves clogged

NOW is swirling blocks; swirling blocks are NOW Harlem children

EXCITED SHREIKING EXPLOSive CRYING ALOUD SINGING NEW BLUES OLD

NYC STYLE POP CRACK SIZZLING SLEET-ish slips of tongue from

hip felinious flickering of tales told to sales stolen from

12:30 PM sirens beating backgrounded breaks for- Silence

spanish speaker blown out SON CUBANO

Nobody speweth thee Queen’s English & even spanish is not spanish

but... Puerto Rican*Argentinian*Ecudorian*Panamanian*... & even

Nuyarican & Spanish Harlemian> Que hora es? is y ahora que?

so... who has the right to say their right is more right?

An artist pulls a black T-shirt over her white underwear

another applies shape to purple splotches to make [[the picture]]

seams more sane to wiggles & whistles belting through the loops

Land LORD Lady> from Santo Domingo <sez this country is full of Mexicana

who willingly work cheap Cheap CHEAPER for labors of longer hours

in both Blue & Grey of Atlantic steeling seacoast

HERE WE GO! HERE WE GO, HARLEM!!

Catch the D train from Herald Square & head UP-Town, Jackson

may az well work those stables with Billy-Boy

always another week for 125 sliding 5 blocks into into 120 & St. Nick

Old Joe sez he needs a ‘Whodunnit’

Librarians riding NYPL lions stockpile fines

when the noble Jester decides to save ALL the poets from humiliation

of being locked in the clutches of money grubbing mits

of this Metropolis filled with salty vinegar blooded cusses cursing

Ain’t that a devilish Dickens of a pickled egg to be stuck into???

HERE WE GO! HERE WE GO, HARLEM!!

to be feets of striding heats of pre-summer-time

Baby, you know, nobody’d throw out any sort of mechanized fans

anymore

then Tommorrow

then another Tommorrow

you can take yer Betty Crocker Sandy Duncan Doughnuts

& your white flip-flop chocolate chips back to your- Silence

dripping silent tongues trapped in economic green cafes

‘cause this train ain’t stopping @ a hundred & three...

ten OR sixteen

One hundred & twenty-five is the title of this week’s rent

to live north in economic means

under barrio full Moon

up here

in Harlem

Where wisps the scent of attraction

after you’ve gotten over the shock of the sound

such a subtle touch of the tongue

when you say it

Harlem

go ahead

say it

Harlem

Say it smooth

Harlem,

Manhattan

roll it over between finger & thumb

got a mouth full of honey

HARLEM

Chocolate Latina nipples

painting poems

panting purring pussycat

Harlem

Dancing curve of white underwear...’itza tight fit’

inna yellow dress

‘Mi Vida...’ whispers secrets into Uptown night shadows

‘We are in a cold war with these people.’

Dogz begin reversal scratching turntable barking

programmed by ‘MY Man!’

Main Man from the Main Stem came up the way

Maybe he IS

biblical outlaw of Amerikan nutrition

& fine French West Indies artforms

primal primitive & phonebook decopage

HE sez (to me @ least)

‘You must begin your painting with ONE clean, white chicken.

Sit there & stare @ it.

Let the chicken talk to you.

Let IT tell YOU what IT needs...

to be strong

You must have three chicken/canvases each day.

LISTEN TO ME

Whiteman

You MUST have ONE canvassed chicken for breakfast.

ONE chicken canvas @ Noon,

& One chicken on the canvas for dinner...

Praise Jah!’

The lovely person from Madrid responds

(((true to form)))

‘They speak Spanish in New Guinea.’

Out of this fourth floor window you can see the rock house of 243

is silent in the sunshine where all through the night

party girls were puddling next to the stoop... ‘Peas in a pod.’ sez Pam

telling of conspiratorial body knotted messages thrown out in the trash back stairs

all those red lights go -BLINK- GREEN! straight up St. Nicholas

AMAZING! you could see flat to this shore>> from the entrance of the ‘A’

friendly he seems.... sez he’ll swipe you for a dollar

GOTTA HOLLA fer a DOLLA!! especially NOW Harlem children

Do you believe in your king? Do you believe in his coin?

Will you ride on his horse? ‘til he puts it to sleep?

All those lights go -BLINK- GREEN! up here in Harlem

Muslim calls to prayer three or four times a day for hair weaving...

Chinese chicken eating sub-woofers beaming outta those rolled down rods

& little boys trying SO HARD to be those jazzy men with more

sooo... HERE WE GO! Here we go, Harlem... with the cop shop two blocks

away from the CosmoMetroPolitan fare... just regular old Saint Nick’s neighborhood

gotta snatch the cash way up here in...

the Hills of Harlem....SO.... here we go, here we go...

Harlem

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