Thursday, February 20, 2014

KINGDOM COME

Try, if you could
to imagine—the chaos
certain 
to befall any big-

shouldered city—if ever 
such hordes 

of frail would-
be poets—as never before
appeared in their numbers—

each distractedly 
nosing-about,
unique and completely 

independently—through the swamped 
and complex
hoary networks—through jammed-
up and damp 

flumes of old streets on a
bleary and crumbling
bleak, rainy Thursday, say;

and each looking only 
for a certain rare
strain 
or two, maybe—of exclusive-
ly personal

artistic freedom—
all at once actually saw what they needed to

out there
in the unspeakably 
workaday fog—

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