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Here above plentitude |
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are the homeless people |
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reading their People’s Tribune |
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and drinking cappuccinos |
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an arc of water in crystal rainbow |
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bathes their feet |
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in rivers ending in tributaries |
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far from the desert of the nomads |
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where salt lines the tongue |
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until sand crumbles in corners of eyes |
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“will you wear my eyes” |
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asks the poet Bob Kaufman |
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in a drunk oblivion chewing a cop’s ear |
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while Micheline pisses on the cop’s feet |
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beneath the green corner building in North Beach |
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clowns wearing street clothes |
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dream in colored jingle bells |
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christmas lights and the red and green |
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of rain soaked streets |
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and the earthworm crosses the road |
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with Eric
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