PRAIRIE LEAGUE
Forceful smidgeon, the push
of desire, the sabre toothed tiger
down in L.A. : Each of those things
are mentioned in magazines and
books, shows and communications,
all taken for granted. No one any
longer even whistles the same tune,
and I no longer sense what I should
do - which was something that
once came natural to me.
-
I used to walk out of Penn Station:
assaulted by poverty, dead in my
face; the black guys with hands out,
mumbling; the catty black mamas
and white grandfather losers pushing
free copies of AM New York in my
face. Muttering good mornings to
each passing person; hoping for
dimes or a quarter.
-
It got so that I could measure the
rage within people's eyes just by a
glance. Most of these people were
nuts, and it showed - they'd lost
bearings, destroyed all sense, were
at sea in their rickety craft. They
maybe got four dollars a day for
pestering people with their free
newspaper trash.
-
Drugs have a bottom-feeder toll
that keeps demanding payment. One
look at greasy clothing can tell the
story : eyes glazed, a riveted glare,
a way of swallowing tongue while
quick words are spoken. Even I
little cared for good sense; let
alone caring for them.
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