Ben Fama




There's a picture of you on my phone
I look at when I'm bored
It's basically an American Apparel ad
In a world I have access to
I'm looking at it now
Or possibly through it
And listening to Gymnopedie No. 3
Sometimes I think it is a perfect song
I wonder what you are going to wear
To this cocktail event
At the Gershwin Hotel
We are going to tonight
But when I left you were sleeping
And I don't think you are awake yet
When I drive you
From New York
Aching purple velvet sky
It becomes obvious
When I am thinking of you
Lying on the bleached sand
In the soft powdery
Easthampton light
I will die
Under conditions
Premeditated by myself
I think even
In that world
Of eyeliner and shine
Lancome and Dior
You would give me
Something to live for
By doing something
In the soft clear light
Like throwing
A champagne flute
Off a yacht
Making me
Want to throw you down
Against the hard packed sand
The Amagansett waveline
Until all that is left to feel
Are the elegiac melodies
Nocturnes rapt in the air
I should hire a painter
To capture this feeling
So that we may simulate it again
Before returning to the quiescence
Of the inorganic world
Insolent August heat
Today it will rain
I should take you into town
To the galleries
In a Japanese yellow rain coat
To have some champagne
At a group show of landscape paintings
I'm sorry they will probably be shitty
Driving back to New York City
Mendelsson, Grieg, Liszt        
It is memorial day
We're drinking Grappa on ice
From a plastic cup
In traffic
I think I left my magazine at the beach
If you were not here
I'd be incredibly bored