scheiss for the wise:

i've written some Mighty Excellent Verse on new york city. i'm still postulating excellent works. i realized today that i'd like to see what others have done, whether anyone's decided to take my approach. all i can think of as a true poem about the city is (the often weak poet) millay's

Recuerdo

    We were very tired, we were very merry—
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
    It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
    But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
    We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
    And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
    We were very tired, we were very merry—
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
    And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
    From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
    And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
    And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
    We were very tired, we were very merry,
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
    We hailed "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
    And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
    And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
    And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

a truly peurile site has collections of corrosive poetry about new york city, one of which is this steaming *ahem*:

Robert Clairmont

HOW PRETTY GIRLS ARE

Pretty girls are selfish, little things; Darting in and out of plate glass windows; Walking prettily all over city streets. A pretty girl stood so near a street lamp, Hair coiled and shining and O, she didn't even smile. Pretty girls are selfish, little things; They'd rather read a magazine.

From Quintillions (NY: American Sunbeam Publisher, 2005)

really? ...who told you this was a strong finish? it doesn't even go with the rest of the poem. reading a magazine is a vacuous act, if it's a beauty rag or a tabloid, or even maxim or gq and its ilk--

--not selfish. and anyway, it's like the poem is a little Chinese empress with her feet bound. no matter how hard she tries to stand, she's too top-heavy and topples. and topples. and topples. 

also, news flash: post-berryman, the dreamiest and henry, "O" had better lend impact, absorb velocity from what's before it and knock the next bit dead.

o! how dreary this new world order, where everyone has a "reason why [sic]" and thinks that "that being [sic] said," something new can crawl across my eyes.