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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531115" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Why Does The Summer of 1939 Sound Like Now?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531115" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The World's Fair<br>from the Great White Way-<br>where rides<br>and the freaks<br>and the Aquacade were-<br>to the grand<br>temples to American industry, <br>promised a future<br>no one belived in.<br>The buildings were, <br>in the words<br>and fashion of the time, <br>streamlined.<br>Their exteriors were <br>softened<br>into graceful curves<br>as if they were<br>in a high wind, <br>taking off into<br>some promised land, <br>and those of us<br>who knew<br>it wasn't true<br>tended to <br>huddle together.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531115" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The interiors<br>of those temporary buildings<br>that looked so solid<br>were in constant movement-<br>mechanical marching<br>of cows and railroads<br>cars and electronic promises, <br>pioneers and robots and <br>tumbles, falls, veils of<br>water rushed toward<br>that overused, <br>ephemeral tomorrow.<br>And we knew it, <br>we all knew it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Tom+J.+Mariani">Tom J. Mariani</a></strong></div>