yes, I still write these things

I want to dance the
rainy Brooklyn sidewalks, lead the
bums and misfits into a choreographed
showtune of puddle splashin',
lightning lighting, thunder percussion --
spin off the walls and wail into
the lamp posts

     Cliche crab apple Hollywood cream and more . . .


I'll tie his shoes and he'll spit
shine mine . . . then, an arm-and-
arm street-funk shuffle, by couples,
'cross the Brooklyn Bridge
-- small lighted
globes on girders are the only stars in
the galaxy of soft-shoe stutter-step
into Big Town . . .

Baby baby baby it's gonna be
a long night of kiss and squeeze --
straight to hell, and OH the
happy Persephone parade . . .

Blind folded, one by one -- tick-tock
cadence of moon tide clicks our
stiff limbs into clop clop
clop, one-by-one moan stride . . .

-- all hidden eyes blazin' with glow of
ocean --

(Oh, each of us -- a drop in a

tidal wave . . . but we're comin' down,

baby, we're comin' down)

     *sound of wave crashin' . . . 

whatever the sound of ideas, people (water?), and 

bloody hearts upon

pavement (stone hearts) sounds like*

*whatever that sounds like*