father poem

babylon-where i go dreaming
when the wind works against us in the dark
old wine to drink
when i returned at sunset
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
and my name is truthful
in your arms was still delight
let us express our baser passions
very well, you liberals
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
i saw the first pear
in new york harbor
to clothe the fiery thought