40th and Broadway….
This day beckons attention,
like the mark sitting behind me with the pregnant woman
Womb man, the walking vessel for which we all give up our subway seat
She’s due in a week, but still has time to rock high heels on her feet
High, so high, sooooo high, the glass kisses the sky,
lookin’ over the city lights from that penthouse suite at night.
Gettin’ paid looks good!  Getting paid to look good,
witcha blazer and khaki dress slacks to replace that three piece suit
Me? I’m an errand boy… I’m a nightclub bouncer…
I’m an unsuspecting miscreant rising up to be a superstar
You’re funny… how you just sit there soakin up the daily news,
while I scribble in my Moleskin, tryin’ to write away my blues
and hues of ethnicity every now and then poke through…
Pretending that I give a damn about you often gets misconstrued
I lose my breath every time that she walks by…
You know… attractive Manhattan woman number 869
Now I’m blind to that caddy-corner homeless syndrome victim
Panhandlin’ for some mercy from that cold cruel concrete system,
Musta missed him.  White collar cookie cutter culprits keep on creepin…
Got that post-colligiate handbook for success and won’t give up the secret
Mr. Deli man, please, pour me a cup of split pea soup
I gotta sit down to write this down, so I can get back up and regroup.

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