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Baptist Church, D.C.

This is a well-regulated world
where form reflects degrees of authority:

Dim humanoids litter the sidewalks,
delimited by street markings,
held at a proper distance by a stout
insistent trash receptacle that must be
obeyed, loomed over by traffic lights
and signs with arrows that must be
obeyed, and all these out-loomed
by a solemn, skeletally ornate pinnacle
of antique dignity that must be--
well, once had to be obeyed,

but the figures on the sidewalk
are more anxious to propitiate
the red-eyed gods of traffic.

The church looks off stiffly in each
direction, pretending not to notice
it isn't noticed, not to care.

Sky, unlooming, moves softly over
all these authorities, an ocean
of light, defining form, itself,
formless, unobeyable.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 6, 2002

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