Angel of New York: The Chelsea Poems #1

The Angel he landed in the midst of Times Square,
Broken and shattered and matted of hair.
In the warm dirty hum of the neon bright light
He knew how to sing but had lost means of flight.
Angel dear Angel son of the wind,
You once looked on glory
And wished you were him.
Angel dear Angel, child of light!
Born out of peace
But cursed through fight.
The Angel jumped the turnstile and
Hopped the D train
Mankind stank of sweat, sin and shame.
The Daughters of Eve didn't look twice at him
Clothed in skins and pale and thin.
Angel dear Angel choir's delight!
You once sang Gloria bathed in white light,
Angel dear Angel, beloved of Eloheim Adonai;
You once drank the spirit but now long to get high.
Bleeker Street beckoned with whiskey and haste -
No time to lose, no sin to waste.
Deep in the Bowery alehouse din,
You looked at a young man
And called out to him.
Show me your harp, let me look upon it!
Who do you speak funny?
Hey what is this?
A guitar, a fiddle, a harpoon, a whale!
You have a bright soul...
Is it for sale?
Angel oh Angel give me a name!
I want glory and money, poetry and fame.
Angel oh Angel can I be what you be?
The Angel told his first lie and said:
Man, you can be me.
Up on the stage of the Bitter End
Three men sang of a love without end.
One man softly moaned in the glare of the spotlight
About poets and kings and Rimbaud and flight.
Angel oh Angel make me a scene!
Bake me a pie, make me a king!
Give me reason and beauty, faithless insight.
Make me the voice of a generation,
Bathe me in white white light.
The Angel distilled the tears of a queen,
Shot up her sadness at the state of man's sin,
Chased it with the liquor of sorrow, sadness and grief -
Toasted death and the maggot,
Drank a shot to the thief.
Angel oh Angel, enemy of Man,
Bite at my heel
Exile me in sand.
My trees bear no fruit, my sorrows multiply
My victory is certain, in spite of your lies.
The Angel decided to get outta town,
Lots of knives and forks, lots of new songs and sounds.
Meanwhile a monkey sat in a barber's chair..
The Angel clicked his cuban heels and combed his blonde hair...
Goodbye New York....Howdy East Orange!
Angel oh Angel, Lucifer's your name,
Prince of Lies, Earth's temporary ruler of pain.
A pint of salt, a cloth made out of sack:
All hands to the plow
The King's coming back..
Angel oh Angel, son of the wind
You looked upon Glory and wished
You were him.

Leave a Reply