For the reader is greater as bearer
of the right to decide what is worthwhile,
rushing from the Blue Line to catch a ride.
That your phone is at two percent, leaner,
hungrier days ahead, you left your flute,
empty-handed on the train without guile.
Rescue efforts on the news, without pride,
enter the awareness of the viewer,
as interpreter of signs, a deaf-mute
deals with images without sound, to read
exactly mimics the process but signs
refer to a system of thoughts that lead
in the direction of meaning, guidelines
simple enough to follow but skewer
great interpreters of literature;
restore people's faith in humanity,
even for a moment. Return the gift,
a flute purchased not by an immature
troglodyte but by a real musician,
exiting the Blue Line of vanity;
regrets for his lack of wherewithal sift
a stone from lentils, his inheritance
shaken from the tree. The news transmission
believes in hope, even in the city;
entertaining as schadenfreude blues,
a deaf-mute hears nothing. What a pity,
replaying video recordings cues
empathy for mistakes made. Who could glance
reflectively at the screen and still dance?
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