Grant Park

Ontogeny. The feeling that I’ve come
awake. I want to paint again. To write.
I hear you on the telephone tonight
conversing with a voice that’s calling from
the television: Kenya Celebrates.
A grainy feed, some newscast lost in time
comes channeled to the eye as a sublime
phylogeny that crosses latent states.
A recapitulation of the dream—
America is born into the world
again. Democracy awakes at last.
A pixilated species comes uncurled
and scurries over borders in a stream
of colored light, familiar, wild and fast.


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