The view stretches west from the bench
at Prospect Park. The bench on the cliffside,
the statue at its edge, the edge of the wide
sundown horizon. The dense hunch
of dunce Hen whispers : here commence.
Aloft, above roadside habitats,
drab clapboard rats'
triple-decker tenements. Wayside
caves for every surrender (your
habitual morsels of remorse - those
broken seals of very spendthrift guys).
Here's a new project, maybe, from LP (Lazarus Posthumous):