DARK BLUE
(1966, NYC)
Hidden beneath a canopy of shade and shadow alike,
I get deep and doubtful - the world seems blurry to
me then. Listless as I can be along a street of no tears,
I wander with an edge down 17th, turning to a haunt I
once knew well : bicycle at the curb-post, that simple
light still on in the entry. A chamber, filled with the
potting soil of working minds : art, jazz, and all the rest.
I don't have to speak : even a taxi knows my mind.
Tonight is for the stars - the guys are hanging out,
those famous eyes of robin's egg blue, that girl
with the always-twisted skirt, and my card-player
friend, Eddie Stephen. For what? I don't know. I
hate cards, I dislike chess. But that's all they do.
I know the phone will ring - Edie or Andy or
some foolish fool - and I'll be there when they
too arrive. My delicate fingers will be broken
on pretzels and beer once more. I'll wince
at nothing, for I am in my glory.
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