You are honored and ridiculed,
you are electrified,
but who really knows you
bellhops with their clammy hands,
taxi drivers aiming their yellow hornets
throught the mayhem.
They are terrified of you,
your junkies nodding under the stairs,
your johns trolling eight avenue,
your resident artists,
your imminent mathematicians,
your elusive and wiley magicians,
your black underground,
your clandestine merchants,
your tireless vagabonds.
But who really know you,
your savage street-wise urchins,
your hopelessly alone,
your caravans and concubines.
You hold the entire world
within the grasp of your bedrock hands,
you are favored and avoided,
you are the solemn mistress of confusion,
but who really knows you.