Goody sucks down a Yoo Hoo
His soul long gone to heroin
Crow looks out at MacDougal Street
Doesn’t see winter giving way to Spring
Tucker discards the queen of hearts
His left shoulder twitches
Gazoot runs his hand across the green felt
The pool table lies silent
Itch checks the racing form
He knows he’ll lose again
Sinatra bellows from a radio
perched on a dusty shelf
On the Street of Dreams
Donald knows it’s all here
Well, isn’t it?

Plato’s Cave, 1954