From under Fourth Street
John S. Hall floats up the light river over the living room
Into the half-eaten ear of a perennial lush
Every day
I quaked like a d**h raga
Riveted by the arriving flesh-scent of lost men
Every man in New York City has conduct disorder
Everyone is shwasted by nine
I am a channel
I'm walking up East Houston Street and channeling an angel
Excuse me
Do you know the way to the library?
You know
The library on Jersey Street
You know
It's an alley
But it's a street
I am a channel
I'm channeling an angel
and walking up East Houston Street