Byron Rufus Newton's Owed To New York

    Vulgar of manner, overfed,
    Overdressed and underbred,
    Heartless, Godless, hell’s delight,
    Rude by day and lewd by night;
    Bedwarfed the man, o’ergrown the brute,
    Ruled by boss and prostitute:
    Purple-robed and pauper-clad,
    Raving, rotting, money-mad;
    A squirming herd in Mammon’s mesh,
    A wilderness of human flesh;
    Crazed by avarice, lust and rum,
    New York, thy name’s "Delirium."

 



I read this in some shitty collection an old chum gave me for my birthday. The rest of the book wasn't even fun turlet material, but this I loved and had forgotten. I Googled the author, and as I best I can tell this is the only poem he ever wrote, and his sole claim to fame ? born t early cuz if he could flow he'd've had it made, noahm say-sun. I'm considering having it tattooed on my back. Representing to the fullest and all such jazz.
07.13.2004 | Ricardo

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