When i am in boston,i do not speak

When i am in Boston, i do not speak.
and i sit in the click of ivory balls....

noting flies, which jerk upon the weak
colour of table-cloths, the electric When
In Doubt Buy Of (but a roof hugs
whom)
as the august evening mauls
Kneeland, and a waiter cleverly lugs
indigestible honeycake to men
....one perfectly smooth coffee
tasting of hellas, i drink, or sometimes two
remarking cries of paklavah meeah.
(Very occasionally three.)
and i gaze on the cindercoloured little META
E??HNIKON HENO?XEION YPNOY
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