THE CURSE
This young woman has done her aging in advance
but it hardly matters, the others also bear the signs
of what gravity and use will make of them,
even with better luck than the usual.
Prophecy's a bitch. I may grow old enough
to know the fates of children.
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The music says, come (says come):
I bring you memory
ready or (ready) or not.
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Over the door across the street is a gilded freize
of a seagull, perched on a fasces that floats
on golden waves beneath golden clouds. It looks to its right
towards another, above the door on the next corner, which returns
its gaze. Their wings stretch the width of each portal, reference to Horus
and the history of birds. They were gods once. Pilasters, plinths,
lintels. It's "THE PORT OF NEW YORK
AUTHORITY," it says, master of water
and realms of gold.
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Carthago delenda est, I think.
Not that I'd root for the Romans,
but somebody's gotta take us down.
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THREE IN THE PARK
Trained to test
the heft of the ball
before tossing.
Spring. This, he points, is
George Washington, he tells
the African.
One is tempted
not to notice
the pit bulls.
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