“I’m not going to cry all the time” said Frank O’hara.
I felt it was the end and if it’s the end
— a friend of the end so beautiful a friend
oh, my only friend, the end If I am half of life leaving
love I leave memories lost within a Roman wilderness
of pain and all adults (who are child dead) are insane
all by crested birds within the middle of my vein-
heart of believing the very fact i am a dying poet
Do you see the space of time beyond eyes and love —
where God cannot go it is the season of childhood
leaving our friend: flesh. And there’s danger at the edge
of life riding the King’s highway, where pictures of what we’ll be
desperately strangely — a desperate land of lake, miles,
oldest skin as coldest westerly best — the romance of humanity
and all the leaves falling and children singing : all insane
and I’m not going to cry all the time said Frank O’Hara while the King’s
henchmen rode and found the face of ancient glory — and we ride the snake
into the room where his sister lived ,old, skin is cold, and paid a visit to
the brother and – the rest. I won’t won’t cry when I see the blue bird
it’s calling out…traveling where you take us.

:: 122202015 ::