is not the delicacy of Frank O’Hara
though there’s the same queer
geese flapping overhead
the same atrocities around
but we have had our coke
and smoked our last Gauloise
and still not understood the pond
the frog of course we caught
and fried immediately his
lusty sorrow’s horn blaring
right before he slipped
soundlessly under
the rippleless surface
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