A NEW HERALDRY
Whatever street that was which I was
walking then by now is long forgotten.
There were some lights on over counters
and windows, a small bookstore with a
broken door, and a marker on the building's
side about the Underground Railroad. Two
girls had just walked by, singing together a
tune. On the other curb, a sullen man looked
downtown. I was alone and befuddled, but
what else is new, or was new then?
-
Out of the sky came a something unsourced :
in Manhattan like this you don't get to see
much celestial. Or if you do, it's all of a visionary
plight : two angels high up on a building's cornice,
a goat-god's face peering down, or some wizardry
thing that no one believes you about anyway.
-
Always like that, 'without a jacket in Wyoming' as
a joker would say - some stand-up comedian belting
them out; one-liners about abortion and nuns or silly
things of lovers and love. You know what I mean. The
new heraldry which controls all the flight and every bit
of fun. A dour sensation, known to everyone. Something
you wanted to do, but which was just never done.
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