Jim Carroll at New York University
26 October 1995
Poem by Steven Grin
He Stands, He reads
Vocal chords powerless from past addiction
Chanting Phrases, words motionless with emotion
His purity found in reclusion
“You want some?”
“I don’t need” he replies
Tolerance, however, No need
His abscess, memories of a gloomy past
Haunting, bullets in the air
Razorblades sharp to pierce our recessed hearts
Under no control youths run wild
A tribute to all who died . . . The beat, his beat, no beat
I once met a woman on the subway, full of life in those older years,
she told me “thank you, And have a nice life.” I guess I did.
October 26, 1995
