Naked

I wrote this poem after I dream that stayed with me very powerfully for several days.  I will not try to interpret it.

Naked

I have stood naked atop the city,
its towers of babel reaching toward the unpronounceable,
and I have held a glass in my hand,
with wine like a mouthful of time,
and I have looked down upon a thousand street lamps
a thousand flickering screens,
and I have waited for someone to recognize my nakedness,
to no avail.

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