i posted this poem (one of my absolute favorites!) about a year ago. when i took a picture of the dreary skyline this morning from my office, i was immediately reminded of it...
now i am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
the country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
it may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? i mean, what do i? and if i do,
perhaps i am myself again.
-frank o'hara
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