Baudelaire Weeping

I tried to be a flaneur, but
I get
In crowds

So many animals in
So many headlights

Stopping smelling roses?
I walk down broadway
There are, five
Betting shops
A few pubs
A takeaway
A library that has
Had its hours cut

I think mostly it’s the possibilities
Of a crowd, the multitudinousity
Can you tell I’ve taken an undergrad literature course?
I look at things differently, now
And not, necessarily, for the better

And I see people

With hopes and dreams and ideas and bodies and clothes and hair
All very different from mine
And mostly unknowable

How can you be THE man in the crowd when every man is a man in the crowd?
Women too.

Tell me, can you tell?

I can’t be a flaneur.
I get panicky.


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