LEGENDARY HEAD In a hatbox left on a broke-back bench
in a station of the metro;
In a gym bag abandoned on the courthouse lawn at midnight, marked by the dominant X
Of starlight, a little blood leaking from a raveling seam.
Visionary: as though the ripening eyes
Were infused with napalm and mescaline.
Somewhere a torso, fragmented, stumbles,
Groping for its pedestal. Museums are choked with bodies.
They are victims of a life that can never change.
by T. R. Hummer
Who was he? We will never know. We do not want to
see him there, a lost effect, a crime, a severance package.
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