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The Fix
A building’s way harder than a poem
To make.
Once you start
You can’t just dump
The part that you got wrong.
Like words too soon in print,
Eyesores in glass and steel
Resist revision.
But this little burqa on Dearborn,
Part hamster cage
Part Zen palace wannabe,
I think could be tweaked,
The concrete weeded from its garden
The zinc mask lifted from its face,
Like overwrought metaphors that need to be
Erased to free up the real poetry.
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