HERE'S THE MANIFEST
They've intermingled the letters of the bestiary
with the funnels of the horn : people are screaming
obscenities while a number of buildings burn.
I'm not taking notes, mind you, just noting. The
most offensive thing to me is ignorance.
And I'm seeing plenty of that.
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If there ever was a unicorn, one to be had - not the
hippy fantasy of all our goodness - I'd bid on it
just for conversational value. Like the Fairway
Market in old Red Hook, Brooklyn, the story
would echoes down after years of neglect.
-
Bestiaries fumble the real world into dreams.
The old carpenter-wheelwright-sailor, nursing his
beer at the edge of some filthy waterside bar,
he's trying to tell me something. I cannot hear.
Water taxis rip by us, the Fairway parking lot
roars noisily its metal clank, and I have to
just tell him I'm nearly deaf. He knows I'm
lying, but doesn't really care; there was
nothing much left to say anyway.
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