when i am in Boston,i do not speak.
and i sit in the click of ivory balls….
noting flies, which jerk upon the weak
colour of table-cloths,the electric When
In Doubt Buy Of(but a roof hugs
whom)
as the august evening mauls
Kneeland,and a waiter cleverly lugs
indigestible honeycake to men
….one perfectly smooth coffee
tasting of hellas, i drink, or sometimes two
remarking cries of paklavah meeah.
(Very occasionally three.)
and i gaze on the cindercoloured little META
EAAHNIKON SENOAOXEION YIINOY