Thursday, July 26, 2007

Lunch poem

Yesterday it was almost
Autumn in New York
&, putting a logical
footprint on a flight
of fancy, I suppose
today is also. Here it’s
coming into spring
but there’s not a
flower to be seen
& the paparazzi are
reduced to polishing
their camera lenses &
taking bets on which
way the river will
flow next. My nose
is filling in for a
broken traffic light, the
rest of the clownsuit is
at the cleaners. Once
more that same old
sandwich & double
espresso routine &
no longer funny when
you're out of drag &
they've heard it all before.

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