When you read this letter
I will be gone. Don’t be sad
And follow my last will.
At sunset, when a purple ball of fire
Is ready to kindle Midtown
Go to the corner of 5th Avenue and 55th street
Take the elevator to the top floor
Order a drink and on the balcony
Slowly scatter my ashes on the yellow bees.
That will be the flying casket
Of Midtown Antoinette.
I spent all my money
On gambling and clothing
With cards and horse-betting
Shoes, pomade and rouge.
I had breakfast with caviar Beluga
Nude in fur at the Met opera.
I slept under the beautiful stars
On the Verrazano bridge
I have known intimately
All the Wall Street bulls,
I have painted the Liberty
on the ferry of a foggy dream
I have walked up and down
East and West, kissing the winter wind
In the long endless tunnel of Broadway
My heels were cracked
My hands gelid but my life was beating fast.
I am Midtown Antoinette
I don’t take things seriously
I won’t be part of History
My soul is lost somewhere in Hell’s kitchen.
When you read this letter. I will be gone
Don’t be sad but follow my last will.
Scatter my ashes on the yellow bees
That will be the flying casket of midtown Antoinette.