Posted on 19 April 2010

The historian reads the latest time,
Trembling glass in the hardening frame.
You’ll go into the street. Exhale. Time
Will remain. You will not. And underfoot
October, the ninety-fourth and fifth.
Moaning “mmmm” rattling M & M’s;
Already it is not the sweet smoke of the nation
And wet leaves fall from their dark places.

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