To Ernest Hilbert

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Somewhere between John Lennon’s name as pop Icon and as the spirit of an age, …..Where the Tradition shrivels to tradition, Extends an alley littered with foam cups, Cigarette butts, gallstones, champagne, a page …..From William James, GQ, or True Crime fiction. This poor, neglected corridor divides The office suites a rare books dealer rents …..From kitchen noises at a grand hotel Where cakes are being iced for naïve brides. It echoes a street prophet’s loud two cents …..That nothing without whiskey can end well. How, Ernie, you found this place, I don’t know, But in your books, you hold it up for show.