[I’m not sure exactly when I wrote this, but it’s in my journal, sandwiched between my 4/29/2011 and 5/22/2011 entries.  I can’t decide whether it’s one or two poems.  Maybe it’s both–or neither.]

Covered with smashed
wild eyed pilgrims
mass of incomprehension
just get out of their way
70 percent of the city
about forced labor
fractured brown cobwebs
why did you leave
languages I can speak
the only witnesses

so I drank the whole bottle
we cannot know each other
cruisin’ for a brew sin
I used to walk about with a group
to pull ourselves past to the end
and again the visionaries laughed
murmuring who and how


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