summer calm
breathe the night
ship horn’s low voice
under brooklyn bridge
with the storm charged
to thunder and all of us on
shore ready to make love or
yell or smoke or dance all night
to rythms never the same away
from the east river

even the ghosts
above the cafe haunt
us to the low pungent beat
with lavender fumes and gouges
in the bar from the working girls and fishhooks

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