Runcible Spoon

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a poem of gray clouds on a fucked evening

                             --after li po

 

the red faces of traffic on 75th street

and kids shouting invective in the park

 

…in both, there is no lack of bullshit

and violence

 

as the gray clouds follow me

to the liquor store

on another fucked evening

 

where dignity and my liver

are the cost of making it work

 

here in bootstrap america.