106 This city teaches us to frame our eyes -- the raw graffiti -- And hang them for display on, blind from whiteness, walls -- My strokes of panic through the nameless day and lonely evening, Your pain of color on the, blind from blackness, naught; Your splash of longing through the dim indifference of the plastic, My painting you below the canvas of my clothes, Your music of my steps along the, gray from deafness, asphalt, And the transcription of your voice within my words; Your carrying my image in the buildings full of people, My tuning to your wave despite the roar of roads -- This city teaches us to frame our ears -- the raw graffiti -- And hang them for display on, deaf from whiteness, walls.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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