THE FOLDS ARE FREE, BUT
YOU PAY FOR THE CREASE
Not knowing the matter of anything,
I am lost between streets. How can
that be? This is a grid-numbered
city, am I that dumb?
-
Here was Frank O'Hara's doorway,
and over there is the church. The
Strand is still down the street, and
overflowing more and more with
the shit of books.
-
I can't remember the name of this
place above my head, and by O'Hara's
doorway, but as I recall it was long before
this a Studebaker dealership, where
Construction guys now sit and have lunch:
-
On brick walls or on piping. Piles
of whatever they've put around for
their work. I think it's a constant
dessert for them to watch the passing
crowd while they eat and smoke.
From what I hear, the talk is of
bodies and shapes - and I know
these guys aren't artists. Lechery's
OK, I guess, and I know I've
always been partial to it as well.
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