New Yorkers multiply half-read books
pile up around my reading chair can't
read I have to do it and somehow stay
awake squirming wringing my hands
De Quincey Marx the Greenland ice
equally claim attention so does N+1
as Poetry laid aside mid-read repeats
everything about the New York School
I was never altogether there thinking
better lives exist what happened when
I went away meant nothing to me any
more beyond retrieving what was lost
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