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Beggar, midstream
He stands, head bowed eyes staring out, his cap held like a cup. I've been here all day, he moans, and I haven't got one dollar. The crowd’s restive, foaming by the drowning man, avoiding his anger. Have a good day, he says, showering down a beneficence of nothingness on the sidewalk. Glowering, he stands up full, not much when all’s considered— while the steady stream of feet take careful steps around him, Moses dividing the waters. Their waves break against him, fall back onto the shore, this sorrowful stone, unwashed, unrepentant. 10-10-07 |
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