The faded verse of scripture
On the building wall
A stick in the intellectual eye
Of the Columbia community
And heathen New York,
The gothic letters in pastel colors
Delivering the message that the wages of sin
Is death but the gift of God and all the rest…Suicide plunges
Knife fights
Ditty bop crooners
Conks wrapped in colorful scarves
Watusi warriors of the nightTenement Irish with bus driver fathers
Quart bottles of Rheingold clanking
In the brown bags they hold dear
To their chests as they head upstairs.Terrance McDonnell, where are you?
I had my head blown off in the war.
And Jimmy Shannon, can we hear from you?
Thrown from a tall building for beating the dealer.An old man saying this is where
And that is where and do you remember?
Living in detachment as he
Ghost-walks these changed streets.December 2004
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