Frank was good.

I sit on the couch,
eating dinner, ignoring ghosts,
reading Lunch Poems,
envying his wizardry
with wayward words
which I also try 
to pull from the ether
to illustrate the human condition,
while missing New York
and missing Paris
even though I have never been,
but I assume I would love its maze,
its shoppes, its smokes, its pace,
especially per my current position.