Busy Street
clogged crosscurrents of stubborn rubber.
to pull a smile out of a face
is to yank the nerves of a marionette.
the seethe of the similar
would reduce even a poet
to a parrot stanchioned in asphalt lines.
the only bits of truth--
twitches in cheeks or brows--
come and go like minnows,
scattering from deep sea jaws.
... fallen
fallen the steadfast norm.
culture, fashion, human
crammed into the same.
the same.
the same four-letter alphabet.
the same monosyllabic stress.
what a spectacle, though,
so many machines to cowl
face, throat, tongue, heart,
mind.
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