In the rain one can sense the impending arrival of bad fortune

the darkness under the stairways!

Boys sobbing in armies!

Old men weeping in the goldhorn shadow of dungarees

and the blast of colossal steam whistles,

watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out the Time,

& now Denver is lonesome

for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals

praying who crashed through their minds in jail waiting

for impossible criminals with golden fortunes

It is in their lot we are cast.

***Done in the Borough’s cut-up style 


Crying.. (Photo credit: Anders Ljungbertheir lot we are now cast

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