The young man shouts
about abstract revolution.
I try to tune in
but my ear is not faithful.
What is it?
I missed the beginning
and he’s on number nine
and I still haven’t figured
out
what he’s talking about.
Stream of consciousness
can be dangerous
when there are no
parameters.
I would know: I followed
you here, see you
at the far end of the café
disappointed as well, you
are
staring out the window
at Buchannan’s coffee pub
across the street,
the Colorado college
buffalos
talking to their Tuesday night
Constantinoples.
Could we go to the mountain
tonight
and sleep in the attic?
Escape the dirty fume,
frustrating—ed.
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