The Man

…as fast as I can

Back when the streets were dark and black and white In alleys where old habits die screaming Not the kind of place you might fly your kite Nor sleep if expected to be dreaming Almost broke from Pennsylvania she came Hung around the thieves and penny pinch slaves The dark borough of disrepute — ill famed Amidst the gypsies and underground raves She talked of potions unto willows drawn The darkened wood, of spells cast to the world Tethered witches dark masses before dawn The evil, darkness, chaos — conflict whirled Where the rose and poppy, thistle and thorn Where wine, women and song were not yet born Where times of olde were a legend forlorn To one-two-five our heroine was drawn Where all those old habits still lie screaming The triangle, maiden, mother and crone Back in from the cold she came from reading Dead poets, live masters — now downtown prone Like Venus cast from her shell now reborn The sun in her eyes…of blue favored hues The old habits now from which she was torn Linger on the winds — where the man eschews Of wizard warlock and witch — ghosts still fly Up one-two-five, near Lexington, on high