this idea of poets dragged
in cages through the streets
this town at six a.m.
heavy grey and almost silent
and filled with meaningless words
each one spelled out in
faded plastic or dead neon or
spray paint
each one a promise or a threat
and you in bed with the
bones of all your old lovers
and me in love with you
and the sidewalks where they end
the factories where they rise
without apology from the
blood of indians and slaves
the absence of shadows
this certainty that
none of us will ever be forgiven
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