GREAT KIMODO DRAGON
Much like God hanging on a hook, staring back
to space, into a place unlike any other. I watched
that fearsome tongue - of light, of fire, of death.
It scared me to no end. Just down the street,
the Newark train station and all those gypsy cabs
waited, beckoning. The FBI Headquarters loomed,
and the Law School as well. A law school in a place
of no law. A man was eating fish from a take-out box.
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There are certain places where no variants exist, where
things are just always bad, always rotten. The sheds of
the old rail line, now disposed of, once stood here; bums
and vagrants hanging around, campfires and barrels, with
planks of wood for seating and sleep. It was a quick ride,
from NYC, on a 25 cent PATH. It was something to do.
-
Back on the other side, on the other hand, History was
still being written. You could live through New York
with a thread of a story; in Newark nothing was worth
anything at all - Philip Roth and LeRoi Jones
notwithstanding - and even they were
not any longer from there.
-
A man was eating fish, from a take-out box.
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