Loneliness stands on the corner waiting for a handout. The book of love has all the pages torn. The weatherman says rain today but what does he know? We'll be born again like flowers, mindless as flowers, entranced by our own beauty while in the sepulchres of alleys the beggar kneels before an altar of broken windows. His prayers rise up like smoke from ancient fires as along the back streets of the heart, the blind man taps a cosmic semaphore and all the lights in the city go out at once.
You can find this poem in Albert Huffstickler’s — Why I Write in Coffee Houses and Diners: Selected Poems
The blind man tapping the cosmic seraphone blew my mind.
https://unblinkingeye.com/Poetry/Huff/huff.html
Some words paralyze the reader and leaves them unable to do anything but read.