more on the nature
of
the miraculous
The pock marked neighbor oozes
out another animal it's probably
not a beethoven the same forest
just stands
there and the same
mountain follows me
all over
town wherever i go everything
gets sopped up and nothing
is
wasted and i love the flavor of
america, but i shrink
from the
people, and i dream
of a better
universe in which
jaco pastorius
lives forever, and really does,
without a single stage to stand
upon
and the vine reaches up
and up, and won't
die, but finally
does for lack of
light and lingers
there like the
downtown where
i'm from all kinds of broken
high-rises against
the flat sky
for no reason anyone
can under-
stand anymore.
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