Monday, August 11, 2008



Here in the grass grows not longer

The eye to soothe, tired feet to cool –

For hills are blocks and masonry,

For lake exiguous swimming pool.

There are no haunts – around the corner

Death gasps in screeching brakes

Or uns on wheels – the giddy crowd

All momentary wakes.

On every curve cat-like one sees

Blend of the common and the strange

No dream, no dream, but streets and noise

And the mobility of change.

The city is a city, always new,

Fountain of endless, bubbling youth

Far to the night – at dawn a woman

Minus her paint, and old forsooth.

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