Knowing the Truth in memory of Frank O’Hara
Turn out all those stop lights please
I’m on the go again
pack it up
put on your hat the caretaker is away
for the weekend your heart is allowed
to fly around at will once more
The curse of rubber stockings
in a bathysphere &
dreams of Asian babes
throwing parasols at you should
cease & desist
the change from this segment of your life
The shop is locked
I don’t care
There are no dress rehearsals in this here
neck of the woods
Park the car
walk the wet street
Spinach or peas please
me I take this cup that
no one offers
that no one has to tell me is mine
ask the cashier where the nearest refill is
The light changes
& you with it
The cars are brightly colored
I can’t choose never could read a map
love a dog
eat a big lunch keep you happy
To A Martyred Painter in memory of Mark Rothko
No one is thinking about you much anymore.
The large book of your paintings hasn’t been
Checked out in years.
I fear fashion has moved elsewhere.
You are the old master; there are
New reputations to be made.
I look at your solemn eyes,
Do not see the light that must
Have shone inside,
Spilled out into your hands
To glow from the canvases,
Pulse like your heartbeat.
Color hanging in the air
With your cigarette smoke:
Darkness of the mind, fire
Of the soul share their rectangular place.
Placed together where melancholy
Reigned & rained in the winter wet
Of NYC, where your breath
Flowed out amongst the buildings,
Days on end and out of your body
The last time. The colors gone.