Here lies,
cracked and patched
and cracked again,
the asphalt's broken Sibyl.
Her prophecies unheeded
by the king and senators
and by a million
bone tired feet,
she is bleeding
pearly gasoline
that stains
the melting snow.
Mumbling softly
in the distance
while you sleep,
O traveller, or try to,
her auguries hiss
like the sea
and, like the sea,
never cease.
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