Bleecker street blues

Down from Chelsea or up from Noho,
Towards disdain or bleak ordeals,
Don't be stealthy -- perhaps you know how
To start this game of Bleecker thrills.

There it's again, that old warmness leaning
Upon the fortunes of pleasant stays,
As streets regain their enormous meaning
Among the tortures of present days.

At 40 Morton, a poet had lingered --
The world, obscene, dumped him into refuse...
Part, dirty curtain, be each small string heard,
As on the scene they play 
     Bleecker Street Blues!

Christopher, then, where under the rainbow's
Colors, purists would go on strike:
This gopher den stirs wondering neighbors,
Scholars, tourists and popes alike.

There's love, rage, treason, and strong emotion,
Cheers, rolling eyes, and beneath, no clue:
For some strange reason, beyond the ocean
These jolly guys have been nicknamed blue!

Right there on West Fourth, you and me, galvanized --
The current was such that it blew the fuse.
But dear, what was worthy, has been memorized,
Recorded -- so much for
     Bleecker Street Blues!

Years flow past us bolder and quicker
Than what you took for an IRT train.
There's no justice. Stroll down Bleecker,
You're off the hook, don't deny or refrain.

Greenwich Village, put up a show where
I'm starved to death by my capricious muse.
Grin, witch, villain! let love be over -- 
For art to survive, there's
     Bleecker Street Blues!

                2001