like laughability -
like horatio and hudson in a six a.m. slight light
beneath the concrete slabs trod upon by the filthy rich slobs
is buried airless beauty
its there
the perfection of soil , kicked long before there was disillusionment
the majesty of a stone ... thrown at the end of a battle , after the ammunition ran out - back when ammuniton ran out
bone fragments of a man who ran no faster than a lynch mob -
only for the chains ... only for the chains
the rubber sole dog pissers curse the mexican delivery manboys for running coffee so quickly fast passed them at an hour when the enjoyment of fussiness and priveledge should be the cool breeze off the hudson ... not the dirty immigrant snearing con permiso.
under the concrete slabs , under the chipped slate excruciate rock sidewalks are the slightest footprint indentations of someone dead who envisioned a village . he emptied his pipe to a pile of ash .
it broke the ground .... it buried history
you can't remove your shoes here.
anywhere here
and you can't see where you really stand
