I’m used to thinking

this city of the world

proud and impregnable,

with our ideals the bunting,

vividly shaded on election

day, with the hum of hymns

for social justice ringing in

my ears—hear ye, hear ye!

This just in, pick it up yourself

from your local village grocery!


I’m not used to asking

the fortress in between

my ears, why it’s been taken

over, why the siege has taken

so long, with famished Faith

crawling at her accusers’ feet—

but he who has ears, let him hear:

there must be another way through

this city, this tower that we’ve built:

beautiful and truly untamed.

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