Brooklyn. (June, 1959)

Streets are closed, some silent, others sonic;

Start a ghost town; I’ll gladly strike that cord;

Empty city how oxymoronic;

Sun burns skin, and you are a new dark lord

Fire hydrants are open, waters ascend

Summer’s blaze, mist, and raze begin anew;

Heart, breaks with finality, beyond mend;

We promised flight, but the wind never blew;

Trees standstill, no movement, no siren song;

The mercury breaks poisoning my pen

Night comes slowly; The blues of twilight strong;

Marry me lover, your soul, is a ten

And alas, that summer was free of rot

I wrote this down only when you forgot