July 1952July in NY
Boring heat wave settles on
ugly sheets along with
Uglier thoughts of
sleeping with Frank
Even though he says
We can’t make love
But possibly still could fuck
In the winter in Chelsea
Last minute, if
He is slumming
Last week
Sleeping with Torques
(The dancer) &
Frank in this flat
In stupefying steam heat
Now I have to not not
Think about it tomorrow
Now Frank is in love with
Torques torque
Bastards they!

The more I loose my looks
The better the dancing gets
Thinking of dance
Stepping Into that
Atria while imagining
Frank was following me
To that century magnolia tree
Opening the leaves both pink ivory
Whispering past the bent leaves.

Listening to Götterdämmerung
While soaking in the tub
Because backed up drain water
Squeezing my brain
to the Germanic
Concussion of ariatic blood boil.
(Forgot that I flipped over
On my bike before I left
And ripped the brake line out
Instead of my spine)
I ache, ache ache
And all I can think about
Is sleeping with Frank
in a previous life or
Torques in Chelsea
Maybe this winter
Gives me no inspiration
Except to soak in dirty
Bath water
I guess I should write.

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