“Tard, très tard je t’ai connue la tristesse.”
The air smelling of sadness and plumbing,
reading our happy doom
beneath a stark halo of fluorescent lights
in the basement of the Bowery Poetry Club
now a burlesque joint, serving up tits with $80 steaks.
And who’s to say which is better? Breasts or odes to them.
“O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!”
Although never again shall there be found such beautiful
talk of pity deep in the bowels and such hope to understand
handfuls of gathered words, illuminated by study and pain.
Gyroscope Review 3! 7