My lovely freedom my little chestnut blinking your one eye
bring back to me a quarter of a century of missing melancholia.
For each Fall I missed there was a drought of wistfulness
as if I drank my own sweat instead of eyes-shut naked on
the balcony I just saw lowered in its entirety by a super-crane
operated by Hart Crane in the new Manhattan fantasy of drafting
its new skyline that to its credit and to Hart’s allows for better
places for jumping from its heights. How thoughtful. Suicide
must be given beautiful places to be conducted from.
Personal esthetics aside the city owes this much to its surplus
of sensitives. I don’t owe anyone any money, I’m a jewel
in this city making itself like all America out of the future that
will happen whatever the state of your soul bank account or
opinion. I can go into business now: there are so many books.
They are all about the future when no one will read them.
The ones I have written can by themselves tower above us.
To the bricks I say don’t worry about me I’m well prepared
-- Andrei Codrescu
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