Open City

By | 30 June 2008

Like breathing out forever we announce our imminent absence.
The oracle told each of us at the same time in a specific voice
that the great conversation of armed rhetoric and counter-attack

that the flags and insignia, the fine, high step, the articulate whelp
we groomed as a mascot, the port of the mess, the broadside, dog
help us, the grunt and the mud and that lost night when we slept

were ridiculous. Would haunt us. That was the last night we would
sleep. Like anyone else in this city we look to the snow on the hills.
And consider our options. Or rather, what we must do. Our retreat.

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