I met Nicholas Goodly at The West End Lounge on Manhattan's Upper West Side. The bar was nearly empty but we still found ourselves shouting to compete with the Soul music blaring from the sound system. The West End Lounge itself is a
Magic city, little trap,
you are a mess of tonguing brass.
a lap of slack jaws open in your wake
as fire boys jive in your sugarcane song.
a coat of muddy lard thickens the air,
every crevice on our bodies are wet.
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