Stuff-Land

I walked through New York’s
weekend Stuff-Land
not a couple days ago: two

Greenwich Village
streets replete with all
the overwhelming glare

of unchecked urban
concupiscence swerving
into one composite

knick-knack fair – into, over
which it dangerously
overflowed: though possibly

providing generative
complicated silt and mud
for somebody to grow

yet more ungovernably
wonderful: this gilt
and clutter of a thousand

New York lives: this
randomly ejected confluence:
this mad collective rising

consciousness of
an impossibility of place
arrives – and manifests –

again, again, again –
as it has done since
nobody remembers when.


.