Aug 262011
Amber uncertainties of day decrease. Cinema skyscrapers, 
Ice-strong in August's simmering, by custom,  
Strain, vertical ambassadors of a raindown faith, 
Unbuttoned pageantry of striptease 

In mineral prayers by crystal seconds click
Skyward where the welter minutes works 
Oblong in loss, incomplete, reversed 
By hasty tobacco minutes of falsity 

Puffing from a face; casual, displaced--- 
Break the blue nerve-strings from olive eyes, 
And amber eyes, that we may see you once unclothed; 
O beauty with a mind to terrorize! 
O ghost that haunts and leaves the self undone,
An abandoned shoe of spirit amid--- 
Radiant presentment of headlights, streets 
Too seeming-perfect to harbor scars, 

Rivers of the face, deep windings 
Of the conestoga's strut, Manhattan accolades,
Segregated tenements of hilarity, lets 
The lost sea rage alone its winner-take-all 
And spaded waves. Those with taper memories, burn
In silent aquatic lives, cinched tendencies 
Of gain, condensed and closed 
Soliloquies of the inward gaze. 
Recall, love, the angled awnings that louvered 
In the street and rescind their makeshift wanton
Gathers and their stays that stripe 
Jazz consistencies of dreams, locked arms of thought. 

And freedom of the broken mind spends night 
Like fragment glints of pennies, dimes,
In an uncertain, subway sallow tenement 
Linking past and time and sanest beauty immutably. 
How many hands have lent their grace and power, 
Past strict steerage of the sky, agile abandoners, 
To build with conscious thought of staying these 
Sandstone monuments of dreams? 

O lordly city, living sepulchre! Never unwind 
The beaking strangulations of your light,
Clipped and clipped, astute on broken boxes 
And bandaged lives. 
                                  Twenty hundred thousand move out
In convict kicks, coral syllables of mouths 
Uttering lovely convolutions in sharpest salt 
that brims some vast veins' vented tension flow. 

O river city, sapient of light, there is more
In the level skeletons of your praise 
And mazy words than you or I, leaning above 
Any silver quay, may guess in any 

Sun-silk scattering of days. 

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