New York will not accept me at this weight &

    Mothers of the disappeared don‘t come ’round

    Here anymore. I said you‘re housekeeping aren’t you

    With Lipton tea stains & the Establishment

    Seriously attracted. He said： No

    I‘m turning down the beds. Now it’s my turn

    In bed with a beautiful American rage

    Like brunettes with night sweats. My love

    Semiprecious & stoned

    In the shoulder season we hold on

    Though I am dismal¹ & have no dope

    Siphoned off behind pink Easter

    I fake an optimism

    Just to breathe—Just thinking of him for once &

    The Wandering Jew that ate my sunshine

    But I know flowers like Zorro was my dad

    Those garlands of thin hissing² lasers

    So with the “sexy isotherms

    Of semiotics“ we meet again at the Kiev

    To check chemistry. They bring the lights

    Down on those cherry pies & like cryogenics

    It sorta works. This time my love

    The salt doll of night egging us on

    Straight to the zeppelin mooring³

    With she-has-a-bit-of-the-neardamned-in-her-

    Like-when-a-cloud-dies construed⁴ as

    Well， all right， I‘ve seen worse.

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