Sylvia Mae Gorelick - Poem lyrics

Crepuscular things crowd me that airtight apartment has always been full of long-lost pa**ions shifting in and out of memory I look at all these figures from an impossible distance—history is over at that table no use running after some survived dream of Orson Welles setting the country on fire by radio —the painter in his basement under one lightbulb the ice man crucified on Little Italy and stealing Zarathustra from Macy's for the size at the war's dawn —all to presage dying— subtract him out of day —it never slips in there —too gray it's snowing the city is drenched in fog like a medieval island Brooklyn Bridge immortal talking to the weather I live on the surface of things black snake at Cleopatra's hand —notice the way people fare—the shoes they wear in honor of the storm Tiresias at the midpoint tells us what we are reality's unquiet heart same with walking and writing —can't turn back I get out and ice is coming down outside the Radio City music hall I have the wrong shoes on and ads for “an inspiring hotel” che questo? Baccarat I slide into the labyrinth by escalator