My quietness has a man in it, he is transparent
and he carries me quietly, like a gondola, through the streets.
He has several likenesses, like stars and years, like numerals.
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Watch out - this isnt the full poem. This is actually part one in a five part poem. just as a heads up
This is the poem I read to pull myself close to O'Hara and hold: partly because it reminds me how important his poetry is to me, partly because I remember my feelings, partly because orange is the new black and because what I see and feel turns hopelessly into words, partly because of how he goes on his nerves, and (fifth) partly because it’s always a bright summer day …