Frank, I need a second line
up to Shenier & o'Connor,
the General Building the Pan Am foils,
the escalator, the Grand Central,
the terminal, the sky box, the Kodak,
the spot you've got
on the beach,
on a blanket,
playing bridge
off a beach chair,
trumping the waves.

Frank, I know, it's heaven sent,
your death, that extra test
of will to get decked
and suckered into this thing,
and lay flat out rude and tubed,
carted, floating dude, a poor mess
of you, a bad place.

Then, you were there,
in some wheelchair, a red sunliner
up the beach, liking air, top down,
in form, retorn,
driving, whistling,
down the shore.


 

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POETRYP||| MUSIC ||| INTERVIEWS ||| REVIEWS

1961 CHRYSLER ||| UPCOMING EVENTS ||| ART ||| WRITINGS

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