NEWARK AIRPORT
NEW JERSEY
I have littered the dark roads
here with dreams, tinkered the
matter with dreams - broken
dreams but dreams nonetheless.
As Peter watches Paul, so I have
watched the world and manacled
all its endings. Seemingly still, afloat
and at rest, the grand planes atop
the sky come in low - and almost
as if not moving but to drop. Over
Newark's busted meadows they
drop like iron floss from a foul
and little-mattered sky as
turnpike cars race by.
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