My portable Mona Lisa

All these screams and shouts and crashing

Surf disturbs the sleep of the passengers

On the train who "appear"

And will

Disappear shortly into the fabulous mazes

Of Grand Central Station- like and invading army of geese!

Perhaps it is because the Europeans really enjoy eating

That they live longer

Yet before me the eyes of a beautiful young woman still remain

As orphans longing in our time

Looking for a house "across a crowded room"

The Goldberg Variations playing to the memory

Of a stripper's bare bottom reflected in a mirror in Boston in the pages of the Photography

Magazine on the dentist's table

But the most important thing I bring to this city is My Name

Cleaving like the blade of an axe of an ancient warrior

That subdues the dark with a streak

Like the woo-woo sounds of the massive statues

Of Easter Island faces    I do not always bring "Perspective"

Or like the bus boy I've recognized whose eyes I've

Avoided as he is a classical guitarist who exclaims "Shit"

In his frustration as cleans off the tables as

I watch him Outside a woman unbinds her hair

In the sun the patio tiles shimmer after the summer rain like a Mexican shirt! Hours I leave

Like blank pages as I stand and get ready

In my full height of 17'7" tall

2 tablets of saccharine are equal to

6 teaspoons of sugar in a cup of coffee