Wednesday, November 12, 2014

LISTEN TO HAROLD BUDD

Because yup—your neighborhood 
and beyond 
this morning 

are nothing—but disinclined 
row
after frostbitten
row

of chilly brick
glum and tightwindowed 
faces—each

dimlit 
in the stoic mid-
November air

by circumspect sun-
light 
already receding—but by
god-

damn—lookit: you're still 
holding 
tight to your little

shy ton
of indisposed—stuff to do.

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