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I heard she was dying,

I bet he split.

He's selling the house,

the house we kept things in,

the house we sold things from,

the house in manhattan,

with its boards and our bed sheets.

It's just that feeling that got us

in the way of things,

Halved and cut

shared out amongst cutters and halfers

the dealer's share smaller

cash came in prizes

we smoked till last sunday

and time isn't important

the earth spun off its axis.

Voices were far off,

taxi cabs and the night life

twelve miles,

and five bridges.

It started in Harlem

the spics and the negros

jeered as I walked by

my white ass

your women,

white balloons for the living

and brown for the dead.

the things I wanted

he bought me

with pearls

and glass earrings,

he pawned things,

a tv, a radio, a stereo speaker

and his mother's old jewelry,

To give me fine things,

to make me uncomfortable.

To ask

Do you love me?

in the park and the quiet

between us was thick

it was heavy

took everything under it

like blankets, the silence

ate into my thinking

I said

I can't do any loving,

can't do any giving,

'till after I die.

In a week he made me a Queen

Queen of the side streets

and alleys and bedrooms

eyes like isis

in old pictures

of egypt

on Broadway,

the 20s,

old film stars and liquor,

new smoke and celebrity,


and jazz clubs,

I went to their openings,

I drank champagne,

on west 52nd street

and danced until sunrise.

I read poetry

on MacDougal street,

I dined on fine food,

slept in the dressing rooms,

I walked on 42nd street

and people waved to me

I sang on bowery,

Played a guitar

with twelve strings,

and danced in the Astor,

I slept in Penn Station,

in an upside down flag.

By now I should get a medal

for looking in the mirror,

I'm not doin in this place

what I might have done before,

I said

Take the pictures down but

don't sell the mirrors

and keep the flag

in a shoe box,

cover it with black cloth,

and don't sell the mirrors.

Little quakes dragged it down

by the end of the year,

took five years to build,

an hour to fall,

and 58 seconds

in the elevator

to the 107th floor

and Philippe walked between her

on a wire

above Chambers,

fall in the 70s,

Not so long ago.

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The following comments are for "A word against Truman Capote."
by MsZ

rhythm with free verse
wow. very moving. way to go keeping rhythm and voice in a free verse poem. not many poets can continue doing that. i am impressed

( Posted by: theconcordpoet [Member] On: January 8, 2005 )

Msz amazing
I can only wonder who you are. A poet. That's obvious. This is one poem I will read again and again. Faultless in my opinion. Not that, that is much to you, this is much to me though, thank you for sharing it here. warm regards huni.

( Posted by: huni [Member] On: January 8, 2005 )

Thanks Concord. I appreciate your comment more than you know.

Huni, I'm not a poet, just a girl who likes messing around with words.

Thankyou both so much.


( Posted by: MsZ [Member] On: January 10, 2005 )

You are a truly gifted poet. Did you know that? Well, I'm telling you and Concord told you and Huni told you. You are damn good. I enjoy free verse sparingly, rarely, and this is one of the best free-verse poems I've read in ages.

( Posted by: Viper9 [Member] On: January 24, 2005 )

Mz you are the real poem McCoy - Poet Queen of Queens - Your work is amazing.

What took you so long to finally respond to your fan base? Did theConcordpoet finally conquer you out of your shell? I've been reading your work on for many months and I've noticed that in all this time you've only responded to your audience 2 times, and you've only commented on one person's poetry (madjackbyron?) one of your poet friends? Whatz up wit dat Mz?

Dang! ;) What am I saying? I took a second look at the date on this poem thankyous and it was over a year ago.

( Posted by: unseenwriterx [Member] On: June 27, 2006 )

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