Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roofout my window across the street, a bird perched on the crosssurveys the city's blue-grey clouds.
Larry Rivers'll come at 10 AM and take my picture.
I'm takingyour picture, pigeons.
I'm writing you down,
Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust,
Avenue A bus.
O Thought, now you'll have to think the same thing forever!
