VARIEGATED TRIBESMEN
I see the Samuel Beckett crowd come
sloshing in - worried about their seating,
or of not being too thin. It's like this in the
half-light : a few smokers, darting about,
unsure of themselves, inside or out?
-
The Hudson Highlands rise above; the sloop
at Garrison and those brawny, poor people
schmoozing on about nothing; overweight,
sloppy, unkempt and dull. I feel more
like Thomas Hobbes, with his 'nasty,
brutish and short', exclamation. No
Leviathan here, just me.
-
A few booted hikers, and a couple
carrying their canoe : they are walking
alongside the road where the cars speed by.
No attention is paid, either way - all those
comings and goings of ordinary men.
-
Like with prisoners, watching and laughing at
a cartoon show presented by wardens, the
church-like happiness is sad. Watching and
more, I just wish, rather, to disappear.
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