Wednesday, February 18, 2015

6365. THIS DERELICTION OF DUTY

THIS DERELICTION OF DUTY
I'm walking about unarmed, you see, through darkened
city streets where the cold winds blow. It's not easy
staying sane, or straight, or even focused here. I swear
a heard some cur just growl  -  yet I can't see a thing.
If a dog bites, is it always at the lower leg you get bit?
Or do they lunge as well, go for the face or chest?
How's that? There a van, over there, but it's only
a fruit guy loading up his wares for delivery. All
these million little stores, they need their pears
and apples. I still daydream of Frank O'Hara,
up on 53rd, and all those strange addresses 
he had. I could take his laughter again.
It's a stub, this measly cigarette.
Nowhere to burn but down,
this candle, that burns
away.

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