I always thought you looked like Frank O’hara.
(That is, after seeing a picture of Frank O’hara last night).

And we both have crooked noses,
So why don’t we just have a baby?
Force feed it poems and dip its hands in food coloring,
We can play muted guitar and watch the infant insect dance.

I will continue to refuse to die for myself,
And live with you at arm's length.