Monday, November 19, 2012

Reflecting on Manhattan Crowds


Permutations of the human
shift in random patterns: cognates
rambling, not with any urgent purpose,
towards the novelty of sense:

they hop the fence between the known
and unknown every day and night – looser,
possibly, inside our dreams than in our
daylight schemes, but always probing:

spiced by some faint echo of the shout
that started everything: the genesis
of supernova, and Manhattan, light. It seems
inarguable, in the grand descending curtain

of November, that our spanned fraternity
of morphing souls has only one great secret
interest which, however unacknowledged
by its vast collective convoluting self,

is nothing else but this: to feel eternity.
Which I do when I call up for Chinese
takeout – szechuan steamed wontons,  
shrimp and snow peas – give the man

who bikes them by a hefty tip: we greet
each other as if we were strangers in on it
together, which we are. Kaleidoscopic
metamorphoses of star.


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