Put a hat on my head– soft gray felt–
a red silk tie– my black shoes polished and shined.
Let the flame lick at the hatbrim, consume the crown,
let the fire loosen my tie, wear out my shoes–
thus, I stroll by shop windows where angels peer out.
On Paradise Boulevard they’ll stop to look,
someone will turn and whisper,
“He writes very brief– very literate– little poems.”