Retarded man shuffles arm in arm with a square headed prostitute.
Black man sits like a child
against the wall
of the underground wearing a white suit and top hat, white dots painted around his eyes, white
painted on his lips.
He holds up a sign asking for money.
Child man sits like an old man
in the narrow passage, hair
burned off or eaten away
from a bare, raw meat scalp.
He has no feet or hands
Troy comes to me
with bouncy JamesDeanKerouacGait and
blazing blue water in his eyes.
He made paintings with Seine
water and sold them in Rimbaud's old house on the Rue Buci.
His father raised him to fish the water in Ishmael's New Bedford.
"But you can't sit out to sea for two weeks at a time
with people you wouldn't even want to have a cup of coffee with."
Though he could, he did for fifteen years.