Saturday, August 5, 2017

Saturday commute cxliv: August air

. .

but everything convulses under the silver tent of Spain
the dark
        the dry
               the shark-bite sand-colored mouth
of Europa, the raped and swarthy goddess of speed! o Spain
to be in your arms again
                        and the dung-bright olives
bluely smiling at the quivering angulas 
                                against the wall of mind

where the silver turns
against the railroad tracks
                           and breath goes down
and down and down
                 into the cool moonlight
where the hotel room is on wheels
and there all buttocks are black and blue
is the color of the streets and sacks of beer
where dopes lead horses with a knight on each

         do you care if the rotunda is sparrows
caught behind the arras of distaste and sorrow
                                              did you
                  wait, wait very long
                  or was it simply dark and you standing there

   I saw the end of a very long tale
   being delivered in the Rastro on Sunday morning
   and you were crying, and I was crying right away too

all Retiro confided in us
in those betrayals
                  we never meant but had to do, the leaves
           the foolish boats like High School
                                  before the Alhambra
                            before the echo of your voice
I have done other things but never against you

           now I am going home
           I am watering the park for Violetera
           I am cherishing the black and white of your love

Frank O'Hara
The Collected Poems
  of Frank O'Hara
August, 1961

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