Saturday, February 15, 2014

SIX CORNERS

One 
for each—prism of white 

winter 
sun glinting—
off 
the dirty cascading

windowed facades of old flat-
iron buildings—and several

more 
for each orange- 
cream colored vomit stain 

dotting hard-
spiked snow piles—and the last

two or so for 
the smell—of all the log-jammed

big vehicles backfiring 
at endless 
stoplights—suddenly

lifting! with the changing 
wind—and grace-

fully modulating
to 
the precious 

notes wafting out 
fresh 
from the neighborhood's 

healthy 
competition of donut shops. 

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