Crying to Confuse the Brave (for Frank O'Hara)

"It is a summer day, and I want to be wanted
more than anything else in the world."
- Frank O'Hara

We want to want though we know we should not.
Whiter teeth. More hair, less hair,
all of the friends or none of the friends.

Whatever gets us through the day, we think.

And we're not wrong. If I had a better body,
I wouldn't wear this sweater. I'd go shirtless
with a duster on and let everyone admire

me: The Dennis Reynolds of Warwick, Rhode Island

with weaker cheekbones. We all want better
features, too. We want not a dry seat in
the house, or theatre, or coffee shop. To

cause sweatynaughtyaching feelings is a beautiful

daydream. Like the one we had about the girl
beneath the bridge off Atwells Ave, you know,
the one with the anchor tattoo. How we pulled

her panties down, just to find another pair.

This is how life seems sometimes. Too many
articles of clothing and not enough payoff.
Everybody's got their something, says

Nikka Costa. Bushy chests with ROAR ROAR

or busty ones with how you doin', fella? Twenty
felt nice, but went by like a warm summer night:
Ian would buy cases of Miller Lite that were

empty by Monday morning. Poems were type

written on comforters while naked coworkers
sat posed in knee socks. There was a window
in the bathroom that could never be closed

completely, but we liked it that way just fine.