Bowery Afternoon
Lola Ridge
Drab discoloration Of faces, façades, pawn-shops, Second-hand clothing, Smoky and fly-blown glass of lunch-rooms, Odors of rancid life… Deadly uniformity Of eyes and windows Alike devoid of light… Holes wherein life scratches— Mangy life Nosing to the gutter’s end… Show-rooms and mimic pillars Flaunting out of their gaudy vestibules Bosoms and posturing thighs… Over all the Elevated Droning like a bloated fly.
