I stand in the dark light in the dark
street
and look up at my window, I was
born there.
The lights are on; other people are
moving about.
I am with raincoat; cigarette in
mouth,
hat over eye, hand on gat.
I cross the street and enter the
building.
The garbage cans haven't stopped
smelling.
I walk up the first flight; Dirty Ears
aims a knife at me...
I pump him full of lost watches.
Birthplace Revisited
Gregory Corso
(1)
Poem topics: light, lost, people, walk, garbage, flight, knife, mouth, dirty, stand, window, dark, street, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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