Forgive me: I’m fitful.
My fists are on the table.
Please unmask the point at which
I’d given up my plan.
New York City noises
Have left me so few choices.
I am wild in love with
With that world of song and man.
You wonder what the fuss is
But the smell of Brooklyn buses
Would twist your heart and make it seethe
Like a glass of German wine.
Now the scene is pale
With blue books and a veil
(With champagne lace and buttons
Gasping down my spine.)
Don’t confuse my meaning:
It’s true my weight is weaning.
The smile is still sincere,
It’s just I’m scared of what to do.
This town is like a stinking bruise.
I’ve torn my thighs, I’ve paid my dues.
But I can’t disregard the truth
(I miss the city less than you.)


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