Twenty lines
inorganic and un-architectured,
like so much of human civilization
never occurred,
never came to pass.
Like American views on
forms: music, art,
philosophical discourse,
pre-ninteen-seventy:
abstract, not in a
centrally
planned-fashion, or artificial,
but rather,
not there,
like a ghost of a
Modern Man.
A recurring theme,
and a waking dream:
we're leaving this behind.
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