BATTERY CHIMES
AT THE HARMONY
The Battery chimes at the harmony, the wind whistles
saints in the willow. A few kids are already talking
about school, while their adults linger simply
over food. Two Chinese fellows are throwing the
dice. Is that what you call it, rhyming with rice?
I wouldn't know 'nothing' without what I already
know - that needy source is me, that fiery uncle
in the open closet too. I aim past high for this
perfection to last. There are, as yet, a few boats
in the harbor, and karaoke at the bar.
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