I met a man in South Street, tall –

a nervous shark tooth swung on his chain.

His eyes pressed through green glass

-          green glasses, or bar lights made them

so –

            shine –

                        GREEN –

                                    eyes –

stepped out – forgot to look at you

or left you several blocks away –

 

in the nickel-in-the-slot piano jogged

‘Stamboul Nights’ – weaving somebody’s nickel-sang-

 

            O Stamboul Rose – dreams weave the rose!

 

                        Murmurs of Leviathan he spoke,

                        and rum was Plato in our heads…

 

‘‘It’s S.S. Ala – Antwerp – now remember kid

to put me out at three she sails on time.

I’m not much good at time any more keep

weakeyed watches sometimes snooze-’’ his bony hands

got to beating time… ‘‘A whaler once-

I ought to keep time and get over it-I’m a

Democrat-I know what time it is-No

I don’t want to know what time it is-that

damned white Arctic killed my time…’’

 

            O Stamboul Rose-drums weave-

 

‘‘I ran a donkey engine down there on the Canal

in Panama-got tired of that-

then Yucatan selling kitchenware-beads-

have you seen Popocatepetl-birdless mouth

with ashes sifting down-?

                                    and then the coast again…