Frank O'Hara's Endless Poem Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sabotage me with scars and parking lots,
And take me outside the dirty city and down to
The dirty sea;
And why do my farts smell like my dreams for
You,
And things I have enjoyed but have not really
Partaken of;
And Frank O’Hara for the first time at 31;
I watch him talking on the phone and for some reason
Gives me a hard-on, but probably just the liquor-
Still in my parents’ basement and I don’t even want
To think of my batting average,
Even though I am very rich but homeless,
And the days go over, but they don’t really end,
Each sun in the same portfolio abandoned by the
Artist on the move,
Territorially sniffing out the next wound, bandaged
At both ends, the flowers in the graveyard whispering
Of the girls he loves,
Whose fingers are all married under the Earth,
All given over to tidy, busy homes; and his poem just
Goes on unlistened to, untidied up, but it never ends.