Bent black lines
\nthis thing they call
\nwrought iron, but isn’t
\nacross the street,
\nspray-painted styrofoam
\nin juxtaposition with
\nsalt-worn brick
\nshares the same
\nconcrete footing;<\/p>\n
There is no permanent
\nreminder here,
\nof all the feet
\nthat passed this way,
\ncarrying lives & longings,
\nfancies, follies, quests
\nboth grand and grim;
\nonly a gradual beating down,
\na wearing through, slow
\nweathering dissolution
\nof structure & stability,
\na perpetual settling
\nof strata and form.<\/p>\n
Those who come after
\nwill have no way of knowing,
\nonly the most frail
\nof half-educated guesses;
\nthe only certainty being
\nthat once, in this place,
\nintent and purpose took hold;<\/p>\n
What speed, what sense,
\nwhat path it took
\nonce treading heels
\nleft concrete for the wilder
\nways now ages overgrown
\nlies only in the dreams
\nof madmen, poets, and
\nwould-be comedians, the
\nimaginary domains
\nof thespians and cult leaders,
\nphilosophers, god-kings,
\nand small children building
\nbrave new worlds
\nout of sidewalk chalk and sand.<\/p>\n
– T.H.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Bent black lines this thing they call wrought iron, but isn’t across the street, spray-painted styrofoam in juxtaposition with salt-worn brick shares the same concrete footing; There is no permanent reminder here, of all the feet that passed this way, … Continue reading