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It's not so much 
abstractions are available:
the lofty period of the mind
ending a sentence while the pain endures:
departures absences.
And you are still on the dock the smoke hasn't cleared in The Narrows At noon I sit in Jim's Place waiting for George Who is mopping the stage up While two girls cry in the last row.
I think they got laid last night.
But who didn't? it was a spring night.
Probably George did too.
And now the ship has gone beyond come sheets windows streets telephones and noises: to where I cannot go not even a long distance swimmer like myself.

Poem by Frank O'hara
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Book: Shattered Sighs