Frank O’Hara

My heart wears a pair
Of shoes that once belonged
To a young poet

Whose blood was as fresh
As water
Whose seatbelt was the hair
Of beautiful women

Who slept in a thousand dreams
Made of beds
Who had a friend whose heart
Was a kite tied to a string

Who was eaten by a taxi
Lost on a beach of fire

My dear friend still comes to me
After all these years
To die once again and to stare
At the holes in my heart