<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=389984" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Walking Through the Upper East Side</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All over the district, on leather couches<br>& brocade couches, on daybeds<br>& 'professional divans,' they are confessing.<br>The air is thick with it,<br>the ears of analysts must be sticky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Words fill the air above couches & hover there<br>hanging like smog. I imagine<br>impossible Steinberg scrolls,<br>unutterable sounds suspended in inked curlicues<br>while the Braque print & the innocuous Utrillo<br>look on look on look on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My six analysts for example-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the sly Czech who tucked his shoelaces<br>under the tongues of his shoes,<br>the mistress of social work with orange hair,<br>the famous old german who said:<br>'You sink, zerefore you are,'<br>the bouncy American who loved to talk dirty,<br>the bitchy widow of a famous theoretician,<br>& another-or was it two?-I have forgotten-<br>they rise like a Greek chorus in my dreams.<br>They reproach me for my messy life.<br>They do not offer to refund my money.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">& the others-siblings for an hour or so-<br>ghosts whom I brushed in & out of the door.<br>Sometimes the couch was warm from their bodies.<br>Only our coats knew each other,<br>rubbing shoulders in the dark closet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Erica+Jong">Erica Jong</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=389984" data-title="Walking Through the Upper East Side de Erica Jong" data-description="All over the district, on leather couches & brocade couches, on daybeds & 'professional divans,' they are confessing. The air is thick with it, the ears of analysts must be sticky. Words fill the air above couches & hover there hanging like smog...."></div> </div> </div>

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