Wednesday, March 4, 2009

was a dream of this room

The room I entered was a dream of this room.
Surely all those feet on the sofa were mine.
The oval portrait
of a dog was me at an early age.
Something shimmers, something is hushed up.

We had macaroni for lunch every day
except Sunday, when a small quail was induced
to be served to us. Why do I tell you these things?
You are not even here.

"This Room," John Ashbery

[Cortez Street at Western Avenue]

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Chicago, Illinois, United States

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