Peculiarly, the city
you love
is dead already.
all its streets are haunted.
Ghosts of whole neighborhoods
(as you remember them
last time you were there) still
wriggle
you suppose—
like stanzas
fuzzing their meaning
for each
new observer, each
new pair of shoes
moved
by the same
unseen (absolute) forces.
This time,
It's all up
to you
but only because it never was
before.
Can one side
of one conversation
somehow
affect
them all now? Oh
well, you tell
yourself, you
get it—this used to be called
yourself, you
get it—this used to be called
spooky action—
at
at
every
proximity.