Monday, August 23, 2010

The Man Who Sings

a block away,
I hear his dissonant voice
cracking through
the nice life we have built here,
gardens, front porches,
nice neighbors.

in front of the house,
I hear the wheels of his red wagon
on the street, its colorful contents
miraculously intact.

he looks neither left nor right,
he seeks no one, he needs
nothing but his own voice
telling its own story.

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