Palo Alto
The deadness of downtown Palo Alto
Is that peculiar deadness money
Makes as if under its weight nothing
Actual can grow only the false
Growing actuarially like when round
Bales are rolled away in late summer
To reveal dead grass like the flaxen hair
Of fallen women found drowned
A few coins in their coat pockets
Like tiny weights of immense density
To make sure what little was still
Light in them didn’t make them riseDiscussion about this post
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