A photo a day keeps the Doctor in play.
Morning fog below the Falls of the Ohio.
I feel sorry for a tree, and never more so than in winter,
the agony of every twisting branch revealed, waiting and
wanting for its mite of photons, its fantasies of leaves
a cruel joke, its former parity revoked, its proposed
prolixity a painful exercise in utopian uber-fundamentalism —
kibbutzim, amanains, fools enslaved to the making
of appliances, time pieces, silver ware for to furnish
the true and only heaven of a publican Progress to come.
A middle America indeed, a burned over district
of the pitiful imagination.
thank you, good Doctor.
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