Friday, February 12, 2016

BABEL

Another clamorous moiling 
Blue Line train—grungy, 
dead watersnake 

silver—nosedives 
south-
east bound 
underground at the Paulina 

Street cross-alley, while
red apple-cheeked
boy
after boy, high 

up on dad's lumpy 
shoulders—goes on
on gaping and 
chortling down through 

the greasy province 
of old chain link 
fencing; since, 
to him,

all work 
is nothing

short of silly, 
but all 

power is—unequivocally 
fascinating.

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