the thoughtless throne
out worn and thrown out
there to assemble as one
in open weather and empty lot
unhurried as a stone...
"that there lies at the end of thought
a foyer of the spirit in a landscape
of the mind, in which we sit
and wear humanity's bleak crown..."*
[the second stanza from "Crude Foyer" by Wallace STEVENS in Transport to Summer, 1947]
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