Dawn in New York (after Lorca)

"Dawn in New York bears
four pillars of sline
and a storm of black pigeons
that dabble dead water.

Dawn in New York grieves
on the towering stairs
seeking on ledges
pangs traced upon nard.

   Dawn comes, there is no mouth to receive it,
   for here neither morning nor promise is possible.
   Only now and again a furious rabble of coins
   that enter and ravage the dispossessed childhoods.

     The first on the streets know the truth in their bones: 
     for these, neither Eden, nor passions unleafingl
    they go to the slough of the ciphers and strictures,
    to the games without genius and the sweat without profit.

      Light is buriedin chains and alarums
    in the menace of science, rootles and impudent.
    And staggering there in the suburbs, the insomniacs,
   as though lately escaped from a bloody disaster."


     (my version)

   Dawn in New York slides
   a pair of suplice cuffs
   over a model's pinky finger
   and kryptonite shears on the poor man's wrist.


  Dawn in New York grives
  no one.  For instance, the schizophrenic's skinned
  war cry, or a wounded animal's dying
  whimper.
 
  Dawn comes the ash tray's
  crawling hell, smoking hair
  burning bright.

  Texts of bodies,a fanged
  morning newspaper, and
  bodies of text for tired employees
  of Coma Inc.