st.marks place, 9:22 pm

i prefer this moment
right when the air hangs lower
with old tobacco and the growing night
it’s here
that punks and b-boys
trade war stories, lighters and laughs
uptown girls
strut like giraffes
with downtown boys on their arms
cursing the bridge and tunnel crowd
being only one morning after away from that fate
step around the sashimi
that left someone’s stomach
after too much Sapporo
the yellow cabs
don’t make the night glow any different
and somewhere along here
voices used to wail
voices used to rock
and now it’s all becoming
frozen yogurt, white noise and pop
but right now
i am here enjoying that moment
of way back when
before evening stops


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