Wednesday, November 18, 2020

13,233. ROUGH BEATS

ROUGH BEATS
What rough beats are come this
way, over the mannered hill? I see
shadows across the field, but no
more than that  -  chimeras wearing
coats. So I will sit amidst my cronies
and think of things to do.
-
I am that man, and that. The flannel
shirt and the tilted hat, seventy-five
years far out of date, with stubby
fingers and a longshoreman's cape.
-
My bag is hunched and bent, and
from each pore pours a tired lament.

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