CABLE THE TAUT LINE
This is a load of my mind : it shall not
snow any more, and I shall not be a beggar.
I will soon be walking, sideways in manner,
to Brooklyn. But not the Brooklyn you know.
An older one, where the piers still work and
operate, and the cargo ships come in and dock
while the stevedores curse their bastard slangs.
The orphanage or place for homeless boys still
sits on that sideways hill by Brooklyn Heights;
I think it's the one Jonathan Lethem wrote about
in 'Motherless Brooklyn,' an otherwise OK book.
By the ferry slip, I'll touch up both Walt Whitman
and Hart Crane together, just to ask if they still do
boys, and to ask Walt about Pfaff's. Outside of
all the rest, I shall not care a whit. Tremble me
these felling trees, the landscape, it grows barren,
all these horrid, grown men with swords.
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