accompanied by a labored window unit
A motion, the sea voice fluttering, a cry
understood word for word, a summer sound,
tilting in the air, perishing, erased by rain.
A serenade, a night wind sigh, out of the spirit
of black waves, the virtuoso ocean
drowning out a song.
The wind blowing, a metaphysician
in the dark, a woman, drunk,
dancing a stumble on the shore.
Dee Dee Ramone, master of the mamba,
tell me in a doo wop how to get from East Erie
to the Commodore Club. All I know
it’s way above of the Crosstown.