“I am lonely for myself / I can’t find a real poem”

 

It is almost three

I sit at the marble top

sorting poems, miserable

the little lamp glows feebly

I don’t glow at all

 

I have another cognac

and stare at two little paintings

of Jean-Paul’s, so great

I must do so much

or did they just happen

 

the breeze is cool

barely a sound filters up

through my confused eyes

I am lonely for myself

I can’t find a real poem

 

if it won’t happen to me

what shall I do

Poetry Ptuesday – At Joan’s by Frank O’Hara
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