Her mind lives in a quiet room,
A narrow room and tall.
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom,
And mottoes on the wall.
There all the things are waxen neat,
And set in decorous lines.
And there are posies, round and sweet,
And little straightened vines.
Her mind lives tidily apart,
From cold and noise and pain.
And bolts the door against her heart,
Out wailing in the rain.
Tales of Times Square: The Tapes - Author and musician Josh Alan Friedman was working for *Screw* magazine, covering the Times Square beat through the late 1970s and early 80s, when he wrote...
19 hours ago