What is that grim night
in the grip of darkness;
desire
and feet of crave
move about in search of
something strange, cringing like.
Streets are busy, streets are illumined,
streets are throbbing with energy.
these
girls in the dead of night
spring like ping pong ball, all through
the night, irrespective of snow
on their feet and head, raising like
wild fever;
Rags
and hand to mouth life,
pinching belly and parched headache
thirsty tongues and yielding
desires propelling to corners;
always
Harlem and dissatisfaction
of
fallen race, mixed with haste
and hunger, yet
feel of helplessness.
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