Subway Music

The subway is full of high driving music tonight — round eyed men & women jazzified in the hot wet tunnel —eyes flashing hips moving in & out of the crowd moving in & out like a slide trombone —at 14th street it's the  flyaway boys from the foothills of North Carolina playing some gospel  banjo—next stop West 4th St—cool, some very strange cats have set up shop they've got brass instruments & are wailing an up-tempo version of 'Don't blame me' by the light of the A train —the steps go up the steps go down it is a whole shifting mess shifting imperceptibly like a mule team on delicate hooves across the great continental divide —or the last true juicer teetering down bowery — like a Latin cat in street clothes, who is that man—he just walks up calm contemplative & empty of desire—he is whistling something between his teeth —a couple of school girls out too late giggling & watching—here comes a pale green monster of a man unconcerned & in uniform he was just cutting by doing his job—but now he's standing still as a broom handle stiff as a broccoli stick & not ashamed—listening to it all soaking it in —the subway music the subway music —which way's up which way's  out of here —you can't turn a good man down not with your ears I mean  not when he's playing music like that—o what can you say what can you tell me —

name your price New York City o here he comes —mister sure foot—man he's doing a two step a hustle a hip little street shuffle —a junkie nod —now some hot tempered boys stomp around in a circle — astronauts in the all night dark & pretty women  rub their eyes they have just woke up they've never been kissed —young girls made to last or take to bed what do you want from me! what are you listening for, clustered together in the hot wet tunnel for the first time in your lives? —we're going through with this thing yes we are we're going through with it together —our slice of paradise—our piece of the underground pizza — our zipped down washed up shook out apple pie —oh yes like Noah oh yes like an isotope —oh yes!

the sexless gringo from the suburbs  the hopped up kids from Paris France—yes, the scrubbed down impossible to understand Midwesterners! Asian travelers! multilingual all-sorts! sub-continentals! a musical salute to you all! all in, to everybody a piece of  the action! let's get looking for the radioactive Easter egg, together at last —in the greatest & most joyous  last chance playground of the western world—American underground musical innovation &  slim possibilities —rainy New York City on a sad lost subway Saturday night