Noon broke through the windows of the cafe;
the orphans gathered outside the hotel
laughing and hubcaps tore down the street

The violinist serenades the passersby,
the drunks have gathered to gamble on the traffic
while the alleys spill out into bicycle chains
scratching the doors at news of summer's death.

Twice today Vladimir shouts his poems at the corner
there is an assembly of junkyard dogs to heed the words
scanning the meter with scissors and sculpting vultures of the cars

scarcely have the newspapers fallen out of the truck when they have trampled them to pave the street

Twice today Vladimir shouts his poems at the corner
there are ships colliding in his eyes
we have hardly reassembled his arms,
but how fiercely he waves them about

Sunday I heard her laughing
carried our hands to the fire escape, shouted
"Vladimir, boy, you are always sinning
what jokes you've carved of the tenaments
for you we paint our doors with your blood"

Vladimir wanders through the lane
builds chapels of the pebbles, crafts the steeple out of wolves