The tea is too hot.
The curtain in the window blew around
Rind rotting on brown chairs.
In the valley of bartenders the one-eyed stooge is king.
What I’m doing now is write.
That’s the real stuff.
It doesn’t work!
I got a card from him yesterday I could ask Dick.
What is the fresh approach?
Your mini body coming unto me, unshelled
as peace pavanes no one undertakes,
not without a woofing in the chest-o-ciser,
two strokes and it’s gone.
You owed the fresh kind.
Why yes. Remember
me? Remember me
in any case.
© John Ashbery