Monday, October 13, 2014

PASSIVE VOICE

All along 
the detached diagonal 
corridor—monday 

morning's foggy 
West Town brand 
of older 

young men—

gaunt
but
vague and bravely 

late in rising—
stepping each

outside 
so cagey
to light

a fluke cigarette
in near-
perfect

unison
with each 
of his disconsolate neighbors—

looks 
to me—not at all 

coincidentally—
perfect in whatever clothes.

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