Triptych Panels
I hear the
echo,
Turn on the Bright Lights in background
cascade of warring engine rumble,
Comes
around again in spaces
between sleeping, comes around
at half-past-one, comes
When I
wonder on broken glass,
shattered concrete howling
names of bomb-blasts; should
Have
protested, wound not have
made a sound, would not hold
a flicking light to burning
Scent of
tire rubber. I watch it
pile on the contested roadway, fearful
faces made logic in time.
I make
excuses for antics,
excuses of myself, place of pride
for charming rogues, resented and
Kept a
fair-minded distance from
heart and hearth, the last of
figures in Rockefeller relief
Background:
the mad thieves,
ideal painters carrying wild eyes,
ambition promoters, fools all.
I sip from
the ten tarot cups
of simpler comforts (good shoes,
warm linen), dream of drying
Days when
versions merge
and take across their leaden
faces against street sounds.
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