Room With a View

~A Room With a View, Then Not~
I give up,
pull down the shade.
There's nothing out there
but wind-blast and sunshine violence
towards my eyes. The street
is flash and rumble days,
pointless nights. It muffles
the soul-full big-rig poem
moaned on the distant highway.
A tree is a tree is a tree.
Birds are birds. I hate
cats and dogs. Pedestrians
have no imagination. Joggers scowl.
Weekly garbage trucks
stop at every house,
gather the occupant's creations,
crushes them into manageable fodder
to be dumped someplace
where it shall not offend
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