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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required the humid thick air of a July 10 evening streets of new york city in july heat that invites two wretched souls into the beatnik hall coffee pouring- smell of tobacco burning a squares mistake of showing up and thinking he is in paris because the men with their old ladies berets are donned and wearing the personality of that such cat sunglasses omitting the last of the natural light through that lone large pane of glass that outlooks the street ad the lamps illuminate the death of the smoke will not kill them tonight there bodies are still young and lean they think their destiny is darkened as misplaced tweeners movement of the fan of iron and tin blowing across the floor of tables and mugs its cooling methods of no use and remorse it just keeps turning those fans no grateful no on caring. black girl sitting alone at a table in the corner trying to blend into the corner that gives dark not to be seen by her last lover as he runs his hand through the golden hair of latest old lady white guy standing at the rear not more of two feet from the girl in the corner his eyes seething with his lost love sitting with the mature black fellow with the eyeglasses and sharp goatee running his hand through that golden hair. the tow of them strangers since her time here, depart different doors broken hearts. evening of walking for them both one walking one way the other another. but that cool wind of the river is a non-conforming consoler of the two he leads them down to dark waters illuminated before the blue clear water. Suddenly one pair of eyes meets with the other. attraction of the two as no other that have both felt. one walks over to introduce to the other which one it never mattered their eyes meeting souls touching wounds of the heart healing doors to the homes of separate houses reopened with new vista of a greater American journey my beatnik attempt
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