or other, we are always
so sure
of those degenerate
thoughts which we will not
accommodate—
certain
that our cravings,
our fears, and our doubts
are itinerant
drifters, stray hounds,
and street walkers
to be rounded-up
and driven from our
nice, peaceful towns.
But what of our
convictions, our wild
dreams, our hopes?
For we know
that they, too, must be
roaming these grounds,
singing on our
corners and sleeping
in our bus stations—
yet we hesitate
to crack down on these
sorts of riffraff,
since we're so much less
confident about
their motivations.
