today

when no letters fall   like leaves
I am using the peace

I rake my sentiments (but not my friends) into
one neat pile
   I would like to get organized  but to me
   a union seems sinful and clerical
I want to walk around everywhere I go in far softer shoes
so my feet   fall like leaves   not like rain
   things pleased by my rewards
   mustn’t feel bashed upon the head
by association I don’t rule anything out but I doubt
whether you, cruelest month, time when everything is mailed to me
and suffocatingly heavy   will find a position at my table d’hôte
for which I’ll be revenged I’m sure).


                                                                 — after Frank O’Hara)