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Fake Gangster In A Small English Town (1952)

Empty as Brooklyn Bridge At 5 A.M.
A sprawl that falls short.
Nothing scrapes the sky.
Glare of sunlight smears Accrington brick,
While someone furtive lurks beneath battered Fedora’s rim.
Leans on lobby door then sways,
From shadow into shimmering light.
Adjusts cuffs, wide lapels;
Slight delay, now he’s ready to play.
Tugs at collar, broad tie.
Sighs, “How many dimes in half a dollar?”
Strokes Queen’s currency lining pocket,
He heads for “The Speako” (Fox And Ferret)
Can his buddy spare one? Put whiskey on the bar?
Just a couple of shots (measures)
While gazing at photo’s of old time movie stars.
No cloud cover.  Careful how you go brother.
A cacophony of crows rat a tat machine gun style.
He freezes, no one about, while eyes scan near horizon.
He’s bullet proofed, his very own big shot.
Some like it hot, but he likes it hotter.
Tip that brim, light a smoke.
It clouds your face as you tread in dog waste.
In your best fake American drawl
Say “I’m top of the world ma, and I want it all.

19 Jun 18

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Cadmium style poem with the painted imagery
 — unknown

you think that, unk, because uou haven't read enough poetry. both larry and i are within the modern poetry tradition. maybe that's what you're seeing. this is much more grounded and direct than i could write. larry always takes us into his real logically furnished world. i'm breaking off cliche bits from this disappointing world and using the cliches as energy to ride to at least over the rainbow.

larry's work is much more healthy than mine, and i want to say so here. i think larry would be both amused and appalled at the thought of appearing in the same style anthology as my homo-schizo babbling.
 — cadmium

the similarity of style is the imagery content
 — unknown

Great stuff as usual, Larkers. It's good to know you're still doing the business.
 — unknown

the imagery and content is NOT the poem's style. it's how the poem sings, how it moves on the page. look at jen's new piece, how it's talking about the kind of thing she talks about, but it moves in its own cool style.

you're thinking of a story, and maybe reading poetry as kind of a short-hand version of a short story, with short lines and short breaks, and short of real character and plot but still kind of fun in a short way. that's not poetry, it's prose.
 — cadmium

gangsters come from Brighton The pier to the sea holds lots of gangsters.
 — unknown