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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