avant-garde

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When all the hookers on BroadWAY carry candles laughing
At special men who walk around Inside the wax and wick of some few
Small conversations you forgot;
Our happy brick offspring escaping into pavement;
You’ll come back and I’ll be Paris;
Give you rock’n'roll Thunderbird for underwear, “The thing with feathers.”
Bob Dylan smithy to fix those flattened tires.
Then I’ll bring the floor up as the poetry well lit
By this hanging New York chandelier
Becomes heavy with colors
Marrying your oils in bursting ribbons;
Though a holiday need not be inflated
For those who get up mornings jogging,
And hide their monsters under a sleeping poet -
The juggernaut: Hamlet ! . No nunnery, Ophelia,
Get thee to a library. Go!

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A.G.’s Home Site: www.Gobi-Igloo.com