FRANK O'HARA'S
BEANPOLE
So the rain falls; it drops all over
the place. And where it finds a little
rock pool it fills up with dirt and the
corn grows. What of Hart Crane?
What of phonograph records and gin?
-
Well then herein I have no answers -
I am standing under Chelsea fire escapes
seeking answers, seeking a clime. The two
men passing, holding hands, must be Jules
and Jim? Are you thinking that is right, my fellow?
The old place here is jangling nerves yet - dance
music, the girl with wet breasts, the waitress I
notice, sparkling while holding a tray.
It is not, yet, the Fourth of July.
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