9/22/14
We carefully paper over
our knots and flaws,
scrape flat the corners
and hope no one’s watching--
lose the key to the room--
spend all time forgetting.
We papered over the subway tunnels
with the trappings of good intent
and prohibit entry with the same
public service announcements.
Just like the wooded lot whose power poles
are plastered with “public land use notice”
and the denuded stumps and stubble
surround a house that’s not a hole.
The chimney, solitary, still upends
a lot platted out with orange tape;
the ivy covering pretends
it’s not the next thing to be razed.
We cover the art of the street
only if its not to our taste,
to protect the structure of the city
the cracks are filled in with paste.
I propose a moratorium on harsh:
not memory, not it’s rosy glassed-in cabinet,
harshness of judgement and concern,
eternal personal admonishment.
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