Allen Ginsberg, “Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writing Letters”
Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city’s blue-gray clouds. Larry Rivers
‘ll come at 10 a.m. and take my picture. I’m taking
your picture, pigeons. I’m writing you down, Dawn/
I’m immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought, now you’ll have to think the same thing forever!