Silhouettes and the City

On the main concourse
of the
Epicenter
of the known Universe
lies the sarcophagi
of most optimistic,
young, bright-eyed
bohemian artists to
walk the Earth

Now corpses,
destroyed by commerce
in the large
Macintosh Apple
with cultural clash, tourism,
dirty dealings, subway systems,
constant apartment evictions
footpath-bridges &
capitalist massacre cuts

Hear the pulse of
impostors, the abusive
heartbeats of manufactured
knock-off kings on
Canal Street
which line curbs
like starving leeches
with Manolo Blahnik scarves,
Prada purses &
faux Giorgio Armani jackets
the sounds of passing cabs,
sirens from police squadcars flying by
which pierce insides of
the eardrum
with a blaring wail of their
cries

How do the pigeons here
get so fat?
How do even the crappy restaurants
always stay packed?
How does the pusher man
make any kind of profit
off the 1.5 gram
Ghanja packs straight up jammed
into what he sells to you
for merely 10 dollars
a bag?

Always some reeking air
wafting
stench of hot ass garbage
mixed with candied nuts,
hot dogs, falafel,
burnt soft pretzels
and billowing smoke which spills
from every visible
manhole

Take the endless flowing
traffic,
a sea which seems never to cease
honks and beeps,
swears, curses of
pissed cabbies, chauffers,
& watch- as even homely
soccer moms become
road-raged, desiring
cold-blood murder of the person
in the next lane

The beggar panhandling
for whatever you can spare
ten bucks he swears
will go toward an
honorable need, the deed he
dedicates his whole day
to, asking strangers-
"Can I get some change, to build
myself some shelter,
or take a bus to
unemployment; cab fare to get
myself over to welfare
or a 5'er to buy myself a
decent meal.."
yet in reality,
all he wants to feed
is a habit,
the powdery granite which
he heats with spoons
to pass through
his veins

The old Arabian jeweler
believing he has truly improved the
world by supplying the
landscape of flashing lights-
but how so?
By providing already rich
women with brights?
Breitling watches,
diamond lockets,
or maybe a 'take me back' necklace
pawned to the business man
who needs some way
to re-enter himself in the good graces
of her bedside, after he
cheats on his wife

Do the bars
outnumber gyms?
Do the 'her's
outnumber 'him's
Do churches here actually
offer helpful hymns,
or pass judgment upon
any and all who may
falter
in this single largest
on Earth,
tainted Metropolitan island
of Sin?

Manhattan,
have you forgotten
the way we used to
idolize you
as kids?
You were once the
home of Broadway,
the Lion King, CATS and
Mary Poppins
Stores like FAO Schwarz
or KB Toys-
which to us, felt like
Nirvana
Maybe those majestic, Towering
Twins
which got knocked down
around the time of 9-elev-ummm...
wait, when was this?
I can't quite recall
the year, date or time
they fell from the sky
did our hopes
somehow implode,
die
& crumble
with them?

Central Park's become
a terror-zone
unwalkable past dusk,
a forbidden forest
with evil night lurkers
wait for virgins,
to snatch-grab, while they're
tucked behind a
hooded mask
where once a romantic
passageway existed,
we now find mugging victims,
rapes, killings
and the change of how we all
see beauty in nature
decay

Yet it's still a
city of wonder
This atmosphere hasn't gone
completely rotten
Some sweetness left in
the orchard,
it's complex as a chain of Carbon
and has cemented its place
as the most modern,
enormous melting pot
in just one combing of the population-
one would find:
A pulitzer-prize winning author,
stylist, firefighter, doctor,
an accountant, two barbers,
a chef,
countless young starving artists,
few scattered kings of industry,
about a hundred paupers,
street performers dancing in
heat of August
because it's never too hot
to move,
ten teachers, three lawyers,
a World-renowned architect
walking with his blind daughter,
a diplomat, with two escorts,
three hookers and five strippers,
a future pro Football player,
keeping watch over his little sister,
an aspiring jazz musician,
his guitarist and
two chemists who may
someday cure AIDS

In this nocturnal,
incandescent-lit insomniac
coffin
is a lifestyle more addictive
than narcotics-
defies all logic,
the way street vendors find
energy to all-day push carts,
Graffitti markings become
works of art
pedestrians power crosswalks,
the sewers are chalked with
shrieks of rats, vermin,
cockaroaches which will outlive
you, me, and every
human being on this surface
we see
they infest the city
with infectious hissing,
like the tactics of every
politician's lips

It's always awake for us,
still breathing until a tsunami
tide wave overtakes it,
leaves it awash
erodes the blocks from
Staten Island all the way
up to the Bronx

But remember, these skyscrapers
will keep you
a few degrees cooler
when temperature skyrockets
will protect you
from crippling winds in the winter
a barrier to provide
this city huddles you close
like a mother to fawn,
coddling you close to its heart

If you can make it there,
you can take it
in Hell
or even Delaware
Once a 'Yorker, always
forged with strength
no other locale could compete
embedded in the very
patterns of your speech,
yes this place is hard
to live in, worse to live without
it's the best place to
be thumping

I lost my mind
when I crossed the
Holland Tunnel
and flipped my lid
on my way
back over the
Brooklyn Bridge

Somehow we kooky kids
in urban cities
find enthusiasm in the Empire
of advertisement flyers,
in the grease of Gray's Papaya,
feel enlightenment
when jogging a read of the
New York Times,
and to be honest the salesmen
don't bother because
we're not phased by the ways
of pathological lies

We have a real shot at
becoming the new genesis,
Genius minds which may
someday emigrate
into the greater United States
leaving project buildings,
highrises, and tight alleyways to
find our peace of mind
and some space

But still nowhere
on Earth
can compare, or hold a tiny
flickering candle to
the gleam
of the island that haunts minds,
bucks trends,
breaks fears and doesn't
concede to sheep
it's a waking
fantasy
it's the City that
never sleeps.






(c) Paul LaTorre 2010