THIS CRAZY LANTERN
This crazy lantern has broken my head
and I can't find a thing. There was a
ministration here of needs and duties,
but I don't know where it's gone. I'm
sitting in this dark-wood-paneled cafe
like some famous gay Parisian with
nothing to lose - to pick up other men
in loafers, pink socks, a marbled travel
journal and pen. Devious and unctuous
bullshit - to be sure - but then again
Philadelphia's not my home. I can roam.
Even the girls get pretty as they pass, and
I can switch at will, Bill, or Jill. Until.