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poem by K. Chamisso

Oh poet without portfolio!
In the raplines of this city
Cell phone to cell phone
You seek some operator’s voice.
Control without purpose, purpose without heart
Out of the stones themselves some grotesque starts
To urge us to turn turn turn again
And change our stone stare into
Something living and lost.
But the wire in our ear is inexorable
And we’ve forgotten what we meant to say.