Well now, here’s a wall, it’s
Made of scraps of youtube and Of arguments, it’s scraped and Moldy, here’s a chunk of Grand Army Plaza, there’s a cardboard Soggy hole, soaked with ink, There’s a plain of mirrors And one only sees oneself, pink And shiny, and there’s a forest Where one only wails and where One never sees oneself, one Emerges feeling free, rare, Until one hits the boiling flats, And here’s a field of memories, Sandy, scrubby, with a winding way, With frogs, with fog and prickling fleas. And on the other side, a street, A walkway, a factory filled With cogs, assembly lines, stores Filled with rows, with carboys of distilled Water, with libraries, arches, Stone lions, with parks where Circles of people do tai chi, And a zoo with a calm, contented bear.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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