Watch
it go this disgraceful swindling day
See
how anonymous hours become a brass plate
Affixed
to the front gate like an historic marker
For what? Ha! Because time acts this way we wrap
The
seed of the word-soul in our eternal flag singing
Evening
star full of melodramatic panting when
Are
we coming back? Perhaps we’ll return when
The
old suburb contemplates the little whining gods
Who
sleep dissolute in antebellum bedrooms
Maybe
we’ll find ourselves here again in pursuit
Of
life without respite two savage detectives
Flat-footing down this dark street skirting pools
Of
yellow light O see how we refuse even
To
decipher inscriptions on those brass plates
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