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No, he is not alive. He died at forty, but he is awake, in his poetry. He cannot write you your poems, his body is sleeping, yet not, in his poetry. There he is dancing. That is all.
Dear Frank O'Hara,
Are you alive?
I've read your poems and know that you are.
But are you available in person?
I'd like to ask for more poems..
It is almost threeI sit at the marble topsorting poems, miserablethe little lamp glows feeblyI don't glow at allI have another cognacand stare at two little paintingsof Jean-Paul's, so great