The Gem Spa is an institution in New York City celebrated for its delicious egg cream. Allen Ginsberg wrote about it, as did Lou Reed...
Rain-wet asphalt heat, garbage curbed cans overflowing
By Allen Ginsberg
I hauled down lifeless mattresses to sidewalk refuse-piles,
old rugs stept on from Paterson to Lower East Side filled with bed-bugs,
grey pillows, couch seats treasured from the street laid back on the street
– out, to hear Murder-tale, 3rd Street cyclists attacked tonite–
Bopping along in rain, Chaos fallen over City roofs,
shrouds of chemical vapour drifting over building-tops –
Get the Times, Nixon says peace reflected from the Moon,
but I found no boy body to sleep with all night on pavements 3 A.M.
home in sweating drizzle –
Those mattresses soggy lying in full five garbagepails –
Barbara, Maretta, Peter Steven Rosebud slept on these Pillows years ago,
forgotten names, also made love to me, I had these mattresses four years
on my floor –
Gerard, Jimmy many months, even blond Gordon later,
Paul with the beautiful big cock, that teenage boy that lived in
Pennsylvania,
forgotten numbers, young dream loves and lovers, earthly bellies –
many strong youths with eyes closed, come sighing and helping me
come –
Desires already forgotten, tender persons used and kissed goodbye
and all the times I came to myself alone in the dark dreaming of Neal or
Billy Budd
– nameless angels of half-life – heart beating & eyes weeping for lovely
phantoms -
Back from the Gem Spa, into the hallway, a glance behind
and sudden farewell to the bedbug-ridden mattresses piled soggy in dark
rain.
Today I had my first - a frothy, vanilla egg cream on St. Mark's Place and 2nd Avenue in the East Village.
Here's Lou Reed on the wonders of this awesome refreshment...
Rain-wet asphalt heat, garbage curbed cans overflowing
By Allen Ginsberg
I hauled down lifeless mattresses to sidewalk refuse-piles,
old rugs stept on from Paterson to Lower East Side filled with bed-bugs,
grey pillows, couch seats treasured from the street laid back on the street
– out, to hear Murder-tale, 3rd Street cyclists attacked tonite–
Bopping along in rain, Chaos fallen over City roofs,
shrouds of chemical vapour drifting over building-tops –
Get the Times, Nixon says peace reflected from the Moon,
but I found no boy body to sleep with all night on pavements 3 A.M.
home in sweating drizzle –
Those mattresses soggy lying in full five garbagepails –
Barbara, Maretta, Peter Steven Rosebud slept on these Pillows years ago,
forgotten names, also made love to me, I had these mattresses four years
on my floor –
Gerard, Jimmy many months, even blond Gordon later,
Paul with the beautiful big cock, that teenage boy that lived in
Pennsylvania,
forgotten numbers, young dream loves and lovers, earthly bellies –
many strong youths with eyes closed, come sighing and helping me
come –
Desires already forgotten, tender persons used and kissed goodbye
and all the times I came to myself alone in the dark dreaming of Neal or
Billy Budd
– nameless angels of half-life – heart beating & eyes weeping for lovely
phantoms -
Back from the Gem Spa, into the hallway, a glance behind
and sudden farewell to the bedbug-ridden mattresses piled soggy in dark
rain.
Today I had my first - a frothy, vanilla egg cream on St. Mark's Place and 2nd Avenue in the East Village.
Here's Lou Reed on the wonders of this awesome refreshment...
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