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city on the river it is the same thing underneath it all, beneath the little things,a blade of grass, a coke, the sunlight through the windowpane, it is the same thing that ushers you in to shakespeare at the globe, mozart at the mehlgrube, the same thing under the same direction. an old man cuts an orange on a porch, a truck rumbles by, a dog pisses on a tree: the river splashes things on the rocks, for you, the homeless, gathering up what burns, but only burning what can't be eaten, leaving the rest to eternity. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2011-05-07 15:10:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
You leave me speechless. The weaving of culture and penury grants an amazing image. I have been homeless- and I have been not homeless; the culture remains the same.
I recalled to this piece the image I received from Ally Mcbeal- Ann Heche played Melanie West, and her father was homeless. He was cultured, erudite, (and unlike most homeless, including me) preferred to live on the streets. The episode
At any rate your piece brought to me many images I have of Brooklyn, Manhattan, and San Francisco.
It seems I am always amazed at your writing. This is piece is transcendent. Seems the same for the soul. No?