A black man on the corner says,
You are the dreamer, you
are Joseph. Someone howls, Get A Job
and he pulls his technicolor scraps
tighter around his waist.
Overhead, a single pidgeon
sits on the wire and one feather
drops to the street.
Traffic, heavy at midday, stalled.
Hot city air, metallic city noise.
Who has time for dreams
when all we can do is unravel
our threads.
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