A host of light is a bright thing. If you look before the walls come up, what you seem in metal to make or shift – one power source isn’t all that gatherable. There’s another word for this and I’m leaning into the glass before the light gets shuttered. Oil remains. An everying. As in all treatments, lasted and classic. Take hair fashion, or the 16 on center stud. One mustn’t let the regulations diminish to mush. There’s an etched and erased choice ghosting the center beam. I put my fingers into every socket from eye to outlet I encounter. A hat less thanks its shock and getting. Which meanness in the cut wood replaces itself with standing metal – nothing hammerable at all in this. Just gypsum to catch with wires. Watch.
Monthly Archives: May 2013
Retreating hammers, the wood placemat. Are in other words a weather crime.
Seen from above, the fallen tree looks something like a relative – in green and yellow
similar to what the uniform of a hometown might suggest – say rams or hornets nest.
The police were agents of the street. They had their pepper spray and other weapons
ready for whatever element might come barreling. Lines of chalk sought their broken
Edges. This while waiting for the bus or heat to finally arrive. There was nothing
to suggest foul play. All the perpetrators wore new linens, were ready to swear
The fallen tree into a table-shape and sit quietly fingering their now cool soup.
It had previously been unseemly.