Last night contemplative smokers and the lean
Jogger's rasp; this dawn, woodsmoke and boombox
Chants. I'll take Manhattan, the Bronx, Denver,
And some great plains, they sing. TV trucks. Ralph
The CU Buffalo has come to cheer.
We own these trees, this mani-pedi parkway
Ours. From light rain the grass, the grass is coming.
Perhaps these are the 12 Lost Tribes, their Moses,
A landbridge-walking chief, whom 40 years
Hardly sufficed, whose Canaan=Kansas.
The satellite feed sends this to Inuits
And Iroquois alike. We are inspired,
A spokes-dude says, by Prague and Zapatista,
By black & white together. We shall fight
No more forever, sure, but WrestleMania,
The cage match, the strap match, proscenium-
Free drama: they go on today, tomorrow. You
Pay per view, you take your choice. Oh, we,
We can do drama or we can sit still.
We watch at night, and our night watches back.
The neighbors seem confused. They try to do
The business of their neighborhood, which local
News zooms in on. These people vote here, pay
Beads for their land, send trinkets to their sons.
We all are out on porches now. We watch.
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