O'Hara, "Renaissance"

Bang your tambourine!  kiss
my ass, don’t mind if they

say it’s vicious—they don’t
know what music should do to you.  

Now, while the drums are
whacking away and your blond

eyes stammer like two kinds
of topaz knocking together,

we’ll wear out all the instruments
they usually beg with—the

hand-organ and ocarina and
dirtied trumpet—and brighten

them up!  In the midst of these
mad cholers where love becomes

all that’s serious we’ll cling
like hunks of voluptuous driftwood,

our heart for a sail, the sea
will sigh with relief and end

its moan to clap us as happy
kids! savages ripe from the trees.



Frank O’Hara

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