BREAKING BROOKLYN'S
CRYSTAL
GLASS
With all my hundred things I stood at home and waited.
This sky broke, that Heaven wailed. I heard it all and
waited some more. I had a troglodyte's sense of time.
I had the humor of a Jesus-lamb. Just think what any of
this meant to me : the bridge, uncovered, by Brooklyn
Heights, where I walked Middagh and Pineapple too.
Pierrepont. The greatest street-names one could find.
Looking about, I just wondered insane - could this
be the place of my Whitman marker? My Hart Crane
hole? I really didn't want for anything else at all.
-
It now is New Year's Eve. Why are we sitting here?
Looking out over water, the buxom waitress is carrying
tea : earnest pots, puffing steam. Other people are now
drinking the legs off their potted palms. I love
watching
people make fools of themselves. That girl in the
lemon-pink shift bears watching, I say.
-
I sold a magazine article today and, in telling you
about that, I started laughing. 'It was about the
pecs of middleweight boxers, and how they each
develop their habits.' So totally meaningless. 'The
right way', you mention, 'to end a forlorn year.'
Sipping my tea I agree.
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