The Urban Philosopher

In all the cities

That lay pockmarked upon Earth

There are always urban philosophers

Well-read, unkempt; never ready to publish their work

And now and again you may spot them

Crossed legs in a smoky haze

Dark-ringed eyes in a jujube daze

All gathered together to speak

Sensible nonsense

Street alleys are for soapboxes

Restaurants for exegesis

Arguments written upon a napkin

A retort in parentheses

Crossed lilting thoughts

Of great resolution

In conversation a draught

Of some solvent solution

But to all they may fall

Unless their hands work as sharp

As their minds

  • The Urban Philosopher


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