As the Culture Dies, its Arts Become TrashThe cannibalized corpse of a car sits on the street.
I see it from my kitchen window. Metaphor for
Art, I say. The neighborhood, once posh, now
Reeks of urine. All is in decay. The old
Apartment buildings' bricks aren't red.
They're black, their ground-floor windows
Boarded up, their stair steps cracked.
Another metaphor; let's call the neighborhood
The dying West. That car, art, quite clearly
Suits it, being more an eyesore, more
A thing that, in its uselessness, resembles
Cars which once were here, but can't do
What they did.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2020-01-14 at 21:43
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