As if the pixels of light depicting the world she is framed in
were impastoed by me to the monitor's glass canvass (to
according to the obligation of my anonymous nobility),
what good could I do
to alter the facts of the world as it hustles around her?
do those birds stand to chance anyway?
Prevention is akin to greed. Say recovery
and a sermon salts the air. Consider the postcards here
on the counter beside me. They'll do no more than carry the
word of their
senders, speak pictures: Jersey's domed capital looks like a junkyard
of church bells, a reliquary of Sundays
wracked and laid to rest. Noble martyr, Trenton fears no law
of diminishing returns, says it “makes,
the world takes:” Another prays the next wet pebble
be the one that makes a beach. Paydirt. We should be so lucky.
~ from Atlantic City Sunday Morning by Gregory Pardlo