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Pique
no one
     on the corner
                            here

silent,
       not spiritual,
  the city is empty

antispectacular
      & as
  deodorised
               as heaven

no sleeping boys
           no density
  no belching
       pissing bodies
no spitting
            in the street

utilitarian –
      make one step
            another step
                           follows

the pace set
    by the tedium
               of the blessed

                    *

demolishing
         half the house
             to make room
  for the truck

bashing the bricks
     with
          a blunt tang

aiming
    the air rifle
         anywhere

blasting doves
               from
   telegraph poles

shouting & strutting
           down
                BBQ lane

setting fire
      to lakes

                    *

once
    in a while
the coprophiliac
    makes a deposit
  in the library

where,
  absorbed
in poetic gesture,
      arrivistes paraphrase
                     biography –


& animate
      early C20
   heroes & heroines

maybe
     that way
  something
           rubs off

as when
   quotation
       embarrasses
the text

& here am I,
   nibbling
      my jejune nourishment
with the laxity
        of a cultivated
            & singular minority

languidly
       erasing
           all legend

flick flick flick

              *