this might be any street
on any ordinary night
and yet i feel the vapors rising
out of human gutters,
i can almost cup it in my hands
and i totter with half my eye trained
on a vague somnambulist flicker.
the open-eyed groping ignites my lust for effacement.
while i walk i feel the sorry scraps of shadows falling.
tonight i feel myself propped up
by the steady lunar rain.
i asked that i be shuttered out
to consummate this brief catharsis.
--Diana T. Gamalinda, 1959-1978
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