Tuesday, May 19, 2009

a conversation with concrete

[a repost here from 6 the 30 2008]

corrugated box
downtown clocks
fire and jelly
wrist and ankle

the wind is still and the oil has a chance to carry on nasal conversation.
it is not uncommon for nearby decay to join the fray.
two boxes of takeout chinese sit on an abandoned louver.
purple pungencies exchange on the daily wave of oxidation.
heat and action pull off the shoes to go dancing in little wax boxes of purpose.
they'll have their fun while they can, before the bitters come to wipe clean the nonsense.
(latent chopsticks lay nearby)

clouded-sue says i'm nonsense; shakes her head at my prose and ponders. it is a sublevel manhole bursting with false gaseous notion. noxious-not. only my clothes say it so. only those fibers give away my brittleness. to the world, nothing- false; to myself, everything- and course.
the left-over programs leave mouse droppings but no mice. cheese no longer works.
a trap in the blind? do i move from this lieu? which way do i turn to wind?

sidewalk is steady. a solid underfoot. a crack here or there. paths of connection.
a return to that simple ground refreshes, balances the hue;
revitalizes and renews a moldy retreat. moving air, even if not fresh, moves to action than to fault.
the riposte catches the quick and carried-away but balance skids across
that action like rocks on hopscotch.did you miss it?

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