request and a Frank O'Hara poem

[vowel-in-thug.livejournal.com]

Hey, so I just remembered an old poem I read a long time ago, probably on here, and all I remember about it was that it was about kittens and pierced ears. And the poet, or the speaker in the poem I guess I should say, gave the holes that got pierced out of ears to kittens. Or the kittens just got their hands on them somehow. Anyway, if anyone knows what the fuck I'm talking about, I'd really appreciate it.

And a lovely O'Hara poem for your time.

"My Heart"

I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don't prefer one "strain" to another.
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!", all to the good! I
don't wear brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--
you can't plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open.