20.12.13 53rd & 3rd

53rd and 3rd. I knew it would be a mess, but man, that place is a psychic junkyard. Something special would be required. I planted the seed and wandered off to think. Suddenly a cool breeze enveloped me. I looked down and realized where I was: 52nd and Lexington. The air streaming up from the grate was the very same wind that had lifted THAT white dress and ensured that Marilyn would never die. It was still working its magic, and I knew immediately what I had to do. The bridge would have to be polarized by cultural icons: a saint and a sinner. Marilyn was the saint, that much was clear, but where to find a sinner in a town that worships celebrity? First stop was the Subway Inn on East 60th. Marilyn and Sinatra were regulars here for the cheap scotch and eclectic clientele. I ordered two shots, downed one and slipped the other in my pocket. At 53rd and 3rd I poured it down the drain then began walking south to meet the sinner I knew I would find near Washington Square. When I got there I knew her immediately: Yoko. Of course. We exchanged glances, but no words. I took my pocket knife out of my jacket and cut a piece of her dog’s fur, thanked her, and headed for the Brooklyn Bridge. In the middle I stopped and began reciting a poem as I watched the hairs float down into the East River. It took me a minute to recognize the verse, but I soon realized it was one of Marilyn’s. I held the girders and it resonated all along the steel cables and deep into the earth, and I knew the Perambulation was complete, the electropsychogenic bridge would hold, and my work here was done for the day.

Oh damn I wish that I were

dead- absolutely nonexistent-

gone away from here – from

everywhere but how would I

there is always bridges – the Brooklyn

Bridge –

but I love that bridge (everything is beautiful from there and

the air is so clean) walking it seems

peaceful even with all those

cars going crazy underneath. So

it would have to be some other bridge

an ugly one with no view – except

I like in particular all bridges – there’s some-

thing about them and besides I’ve

never seen an ugly bridge.

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