A highrise apartment
Made of air. Its foundation Is sizzling electricity, It strikes each deformation, As though a king lives there, Intolerant and raw, Striking down pretenders With the excuse of law, The wind that swoops Down from the stratosphere, That lifts the dust, that stirs The wavelets round the pier, Clear the air until The eyes are bright, Until it may be read By the slightest acolyte
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Yaacov David Shulman
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September 2019
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