Poem by Frank O’Hara (click on pic to find out more)

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Just as I leave the theatre
you come in the door. Or I

receive a letter saying you
are a policeman. My day retches

amidst its studies and you
are rigid with hauter for

months. But then by expert
montage, a mountain growing

out of principle, you appear before me.

I spill your whiskey: you are
beautiful! When my back is

turned you still love me.
Mirrors go blind in our flame.

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