is dead.
He died
not far from me
in a cheap, transient
Lexington Ave.,
soon to be torn down
hotel
that the $2.00,
truck drivin, acne faced,
need to feel somethin
people
give
to the not too pretty,
no good connections,
street action lovers,
jacked-up,
diseased hallway,
fake leather,
mouse droppings,
blow-job missing
piece of the puzzle
hooker
contracts
to.
I wonder how
Ed Norton feels?
Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 1977
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