Frank O’Hara Says It’s Grace to Be Born

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Once, I plunged headfirst
into a great sea of scribble,
brainwaves, and artichoke hearts,
partaking in the waters until I choked.
Some fires were stoked, others
stamped out, and still others broke
out in song or crystal shards,
which by far, were the most beautiful.
I thought about beauty
as I cleansed my lungs, climbing
from the sea to the roof of a three
-story apartment building.
I thought about beauty as I gazed
at the world below, the cross
-hatched city that morphed
into a face the longer I looked
and shook whenever I took
a drag of my cigarette.
Briefly, I thought about overdue rent,
time spent (read: wasted) on working,
mistakes, complaints,
the sneaking suspicion that life
has no meaning, and then
I thought about beauty again.
How beautiful it is to breathe.

-r. miller

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