From under Fourth Street John S. Hall floats up the light river over the living room Into the half-eaten ear of a perennial lush Every day I quaked like a d**h raga Riveted by the arriving flesh-scent of lost men Every man in New York City has conduct disorder Everyone is shwasted by nine
I am a channel I'm walking up East Houston Street and channeling an angel Excuse me Do you know the way to the library? You know The library on Jersey Street You know It's an alley But it's a street I am a channel I'm channeling an angel and walking up East Houston Street