Yes, I know for one
an abating Bowery, and
I'll tell you what was there
along that cherished old tract,
I was there!
I and a just-joust
zealot's heart...
committed, saturated in
an obscure-scope of gaudy-god,
what's ironic hell Religion.
Yes, I was there and bent on the cause,
contending daily... contra forces.
They, modern botch-ettes
steeped in the illusion
rolled on the walk of my shoe.
Cursed negator, astute in the cause
and what's beyond that ludicrous notion,
baloney fried with hog snout
and that savorless blood-meal gravy.
So execrated but standing daily,
aggrandizingly tall as Mrs Liberty -
that symbolic lady of the bay.
Boastfully (though) this torch had light,
spark beyond mere intensity or stars.
With my mightily & imbued psyche,
so staunch, so given, so rare...
so unfortunate and filled with
LUNACY! Yes, and His.
And, disdainfully at you, I was there
for years and years,
but now...well now...?
now I've achieved new status:
I man-a-cure goD's nails,
with metaphoric files,
contrary versions
of cabalistic craft.
I see... I saw…
and saw some more
eating dishes o' dignity daily...
breakfast, lunch & dinner.
It’s... very VIRTUE! ! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
lost in my own linguistic deficiency, i wish i could decipher ' vanishing ny2' i know there's a secret message somewhere