Frank O’Hara writes a poem
about why he’s not a painter, and in it
he writes a poem called “Oranges”
with no orange.
So I’ll write a self portrait
I’ll write instead about what I like:
the opera, “Surfer Girl,”?walking right after it rains and
the damp makes slight adhesion
between foot and flip-flop.
Princeton gives us great jerky
and I lean back in mine,
but not too far,
because last year I fell backwards.
– When I was very young,
I fell off the couch.
I touched the blood on my forehead
with a kind of confusion,
disbelief that I was bleeding at all.