.
.
City stone is mostly what my art
observes
to find its way. From 1880s scroll
and column
on my block I heard today what bell
deserves
my notice, and for whom it has to
toll. Solemn
.
though this business may appear, New
York
fears nothing about death. It plays
ping pong
with it, and life - can’t wait to
pop the cork
to toast the art it spawns with
bubbly ding dong.
.
Hence the pitcher and the lizard
here, I think:
who find themselves in lurid hues a
city bell
would welcome. They’ve drunk the
drink.
Feeling well. Not in hell. Art’s
rather swell.
.
It’s amazing how little
things matter. They
don’t matter at all, and
they matter the most.
Every life we bring on we
will shatter. Hey!
But don’t leave in a
huff. Make a toast!
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