THIS IS PREPARED BY
(from macdougal st. to fifth ave., 1967)
There is a only a jumble now, where
there used to be a 'Jumble Shop' -
seventy-five years ago, anyway. We are
awaiting the timing of the play (one of
the last steps in late rehearsals), and the
Eighth Street parade is due here soon;
that painting by a someone I forget, Thomas
Eakins perhaps, or Winslow Homer. At
Eighth and Fifth, there were no balustrades,
only me, solitary, and crossing the busy
evening's street - it seems again, over
and over again. To my right is the arch,
at which I peer while waiting, in the
dimming, graying onset of
that evening's night.
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