I stagger out of the Paradise Rock Club. 11:04pm. 42 degrees. Short sleeves, no jacket; I give zero *****. I have experienced something beyond words, but I'll try In 50 minutes it will be All Hallow's Eve, a Monday Due and not yet begun I have an essay on James Joyce and A reckoning on the occult, inner mysteries of the CPU. Again, I give zero ***** The last hour and a half were the best possible use of my time.
Not 5 miles away, people I sympathize with are protesting the failure of America, But tonight I have seen her undeniable beauty:
904, as the fire code rates, packed in to the inch A choir united, the director: A man who tonight skipped his Aunt Steph's funeral at her request To be here
To direct us in each anthem. In hopeful, truthful noise Our hoarse and untrained voices combine And as Mr. Key observes, against all odds, against all reason Make the most beautiful sound.
D.B. Guy Slightly drunk, tears in my eyes On the Green Line 11:17pm
End of October 2011. Bill Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems. Frank O' Hara.