Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Blue fulcrum

I sit in your T shirt
with its spots of paint
as a certain fierceness pours
outside, perhaps, too, on you.
there, are you? I am here
and the storm is not enough,
it should crash in and wet,
there should be maelstrom where

a privileged host is smiling.
And naked in debris I there
should be, but, being here, should
bend to you, pick out of rubble

a scrap of painted shirt ..

                              as if it were soiled ivory from
                              a grand piano, possessed of us
                              both, and ruined now by storms.


Frank O'Hara
Lisztiana, Much Later
Paris Review, 1968
Donald Allen, editor
The Collected Poems
  of Frank O'Hara
op. cit.

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