Today I saw a color without a name,
spread eagle across bayside breezes
and visible from top to bottom
I saw it while sweeping up and away
the jagged bits of glimmering pebbles,
infinitesimal casualty of another night above
Of a day before that, in the mud and pointed
branches of campus mystagogues and sideways pathways,
Of making camp in the firehouse lighthouse of our twenties.
Of today, tonight - homemade salsa and two dollar
fifty-cent wine, and Woody Allen, and "Mamie's Blues,"
and "Whatcha Gonna Do About It?"
Of rain on the deck at half past midnight, Billie Holiday
and Ginsberg's "America" - halfway there
and with good wine.
And more free counter space.
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