Lyric shelf
You ain’t promised mañana.
Big Pun
Urban geography: subways, rooftops, sodium lights, and concrete. 15 poems live in this room.
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Start with these poems
Every poem gathered beneath this lyric.
No. 60
As the fire grew within
The Walkman on the long rides throughout the boroughs As you explored the world.
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No. 15
To shape your heart
When you leave home for the first time, Someone might recognize you by The sound of your voice, the way you wear your
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No. 61
Sleeping on the couch in the old house
Sleeping on the couch in the old house Where the faucet pours hope and doubt in equal parts.
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No. 91
Where dreams emerged...
Please don't take away the early mornings on the subway, Biggie bumping in the Walkman.
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No. 6
So slip away
It's okay to Slip out at night, Basketball in hand,
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No. 16
The painting of paradise
Yesterday, through my translucent looking glass I watched, from the deepest recesses of my desire A girl, who in a Brooklyn bath
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No. 46
The underground snake-ship,
The underground snake-ship, The blue hour bus ride, Just so you could sit alone
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No. 48
Invisible prisons you locked yourself in
The long coupon bus rides To the neon towers in the darkness. The buzzers on the unmarked doors,
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No. 50
Your intuition knew
You'll never forget when you feel magic. It'll grab you by the throat And freeze-stamp the time and place—
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No. 55
Revisit the darkness
What force draws you back to walk the winding tunnel of those old blocks,
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No. 73
In the ghost light
You jumped the fence And ran. Sometimes the wind lifted you
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No. 74
You touched the cloud
Butterflies and secret sparks in long glittering hallways Butter cake and a
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No. 87
The dewdrops of your dreams
It's the words scrawled past the margins That are all you'll ever need. Your heart still lives in the ghost light
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No. 101
One summer night, you'll glimpse infinity.
One summer night, you'll glimpse infinity. Climb the hill, between the rolling White Mountains, and on the way
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No. 104
The high-pitched call
The high-pitched call that escaped your chapped lips into the nighttime winter wind,
Read The high-pitched call →
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