July 10


The sky was a midnight blue
Velvet cloth draping
A birdcage and no moon
But the breeze was whistling
And the sound of a car
On Valentine Place was
The rush of a waterfall
On the phone in New York City
And that’s when the muse
Turned up with curly brown locks
She was a poet, too, and wanted
Me to give her an assignment
She was willing to trade
Fifteen minutes of inspiration
In return for a phone call
From Frank O’Hara in heaven
Sipping espresso and Irish whiskey
And then a morning swim
We had so much energy those days
We needed to burn some up
Before we could paint


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July 10