A photograph of Manhattan taken this morning from Brooklyn and part of a poem by Frank O’Hara, written in 1964.


6:45 am, 11 September 2002

where does the evil of the year go
when September takes New York
and turns it into ozone stalagmites
deposits of light
so i get back up
make coffee, and read Francois Villon, his life, so dark
New York seems blinding and my tie is blowing up the street
I wish it would blow off
through it is cold and somewhat warms my neck

– from ‘Poem,’ from Frank O’Hara’s Lunch Poems