never saw it that way thinking guerrillas
would be remembered forgetting a time
when my heart was on a bookshelf as
The Chieftain landed at Frank O'Hara Airport
expecting he'd be judged by what was said
misjudging the mood in New York was based
on what was not done everything went like
clockwork the weather meant hard ground and
it took time for any rain to land on the flowers
when words are vague and said more in jest
often one's heartbreak and sense of futility can
be much worse reality hits harder thirty seven
years later all those rooms you thought death
was looming large upon a clock curtain rail say
freedom's a waste of much needed paper Mark
Hyatt spun quickly through time space so much
to do such little spans till some mousetrap clicks
inside a dish meant for a fridge pale blue yonder