our father who art in a penthousesits in his 37th floor suiteand swivels to gaze downat the city he made me inhe allows me to stand andsollicit graffiti untilhe needs the land I stand onI in my darkened thresholdam pawing through my pocketsthe receipts, the bus schedulesthe matchbook phone numbersthe urgent napkin poemsall of which […]
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