Friday, June 27, 2014

Morning by Frank O'Hara

I've got to tell you 
how I love you always 
I think of it on grey 
mornings with death 

in my mouth the tea 
is never hot enough 
then and the cigarette 
dry the maroon robe 

chills me I need you 
and look out the window 
at the noiseless snow 

At night on the dock 
the buses glow like 
clouds and I am lonely 
thinking of flutes 

I miss you always 
when I go to the beach 
the sand is wet with 
tears that seem mine 

although I never weep 
and hold you in my 
heart with a very real 
humor you'd be proud of 

the parking lot is 
crowded and I stand 
rattling my keys the car 
is empty as a bicycle 

what are you doing now 
where did you eat your 
lunch and were there 
lots of anchovies it 

is difficult to think 
of you without me in 
the sentence you depress 
me when you are alone 

Last night the stars 
were numerous and today 
snow is their calling 
card I'll not be cordial 

there is nothing that 
distracts me music is 
only a crossword puzzle 
do you know how it is 

when you are the only 
passenger if there is a 
place further from me 
I beg you do not go