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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463788" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Museum Of The City Of...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463788" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It beats Keats for frozen motion-<br>this gelatin-silver 8 by 12 glossy<br>from nineteen seventy eight or seventy nine<br>(ancient history in American time-<br>why, James Schuyler was alive and living at the Chelsea!) , <br>of frogmen dropt from a low-hovering chopper<br>down into a stream of turgid riverwater<br>two, just off, suspended giddily in mid-air, <br>fuselage portals yawning wide behind, <br>one on either side, neatly clearing the skids, <br>like dancers in an aerial dance, <br>or human hieroglyphs<br>eternally outspread-while a third, <br>sleek noggin bobs below, already down in the drink, <br>(this, not, mind you, being the sea, <br>since off on the distant, further shore repines<br>the faint exosketeton of Queens; <br>and there where the isle of Manhattan nearest draws<br>it's Queenly Abydos-the ghostly tracery of<br>the Hellsgate.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463788" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Behind their...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Morgan+Michaels">Morgan Michaels</a></strong></div>