I GET WILD IN MY GARDEN
OF DOUBT AND BLEMISH
Let it not be said - it cannot -
let it be said once,
no more; there isn't a moment of
danger to exceed
the lancing of a dream : some weird
concoction in
spite of all reality. The curb, an
elixir of movement,
a boundary for delight to pass
through, harbors
drunks and criminals as it may -
they pass, they
walk, their stagger and strut
malicious and funny
and fey. The regular people
alongside them, for
whatever reason, they move aside.
Germantown
Avenue - right here - slides
like a ghost away.
Afraid of new achievement, it
captures no one
and the locals stray - slobbering
sick drunks,
the passed out, the puked, the
fattened, the
enslaved. No, no, though I search I
can find
no honor. A million voices,
instead,
screaming - 'Lost!!'
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