52nd street
i look at imprints of words i wrote before
and listen to addicts howl with laughter
amid the din i find a momentary purpose
to tell the stories of crackheads and whores
to find the beauty of the two-bit hustler
and the welfare queen
soon the echoes of the day absorb me
and i am faced with the knowledge
that there is no rhyme or reason
i surrender to today letting
tomorrow tumble through time