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
  [fragment]
1956
Paris Review, 1968
Donald Allen, editor
The Collected Poems
  of Frank O'Hara
op. cit.

Ellsworth Kelly