Nocturne, by Frank O'Hara

There’s nothing worse

 than feeling bad and not

being able to tell you.

Not because you’d kill me

or it would kill you, or

we don’t love each other.

It’s space. The sky is grey

and clear, with pink

and blue shadows under each cloud.

A tiny airliner drops its

 specks over the UN Building.

My eyes, like millions of

glassy squares, merely reflect.

Everything sees through me,

in the daytime I’m too hot

and at night I freeze; I’m

built the wrong way for the

 river and a mild gale would

break every fiber in me.

Why don’t I go east and west

Instead of north and south?

It’s the architect’s fault.

And in a few years I’ll be

useless, not even an office

building. Because you have

no telephone, and live so

 far away; the Pepsi-Cola  sign,

the seagulls and the noise.

Frank O’Hara.