No idea what I just wrote but it was kind of a memory of a trip to NY which the original made me think of and then I was watching American Psycho and thinking about living in California and this just turned out weird.
It’s 2:45 in the morning, were standing in a line
waiting for paper plates, chicken and rice, I’m shaking
California grounds because my boyfriend pushed
my carmine button that fastens to my favorite
Gap cardigan. I’m boiling over the Rocky Mts.
to find myself in New York again.
John Tsoa’s father is a part of the Buddhist mafia,
he operates legally and crimes justifying humanity,
humanity that people have lost faith in.
He bought us three tickets to the city
where we have lost our minds in Bronx.
There is a man cursing in the half closed
half opened, combined, Dunkin Donuts
and Popeyes. Fucking ugly bitch, I want to stab
you to death and play around in your blood.
My boyfriend walked out as tears
drippled down my face and that man
approached me, licking his cracked lips
caked with something white and breathed
steam in my ear, it sounded like scratch
against a chalky wall and smelt like
London fog as his words stuck
to the filmy membrane of my mind.
He made me feel dirty and I cried
spray paint as another sad story.
Claude McKay
The Harlem Dancer
Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;
Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes
Blown by black players upon a picnic day.
She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,
The light gauze hanging loose about her form;
To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.
Upon her swarthy neck black, shiny curls
Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise,
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze;
But, looking at her falsely-smiling face
I knew her self was not in that strange place.
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