To suffer detours: this through-line
of patchwork housing, outcrop. A craft
of optimism, ignorance. The internet equally
bears each alphabet.
Our 1950s dream-house, capacious backyard,
deep. Trees peak, and ripple. An
undefinable mental space.
Lower sheets. They postcard. Feet fade from the offset.
City ward named
for connecting tissue, thoroughfare. Did Thor invent lightning
or did lightning invent Thor?
Moments season, schedule
appreciations. The rumble of city bus, a firetruck.
suburban fractals. Bees forged hexagons, such
minimal density, and everything we construct
either collapse, or a half-life
of centuries. Poison the lake. It is possible
to exist without realizing.
Oversimplified. Abbreviated streets. An architectural promise.
Every fourth yard, chlorinated pool water. David Hockney ripples.
Sketch of hedges, fence-marks , house
house, house. Is it possible to not be
a story of disappearance? A monstrous in-fill,
consuming former yard, disgorged. Obsolete.
Kevin Varrone: history is punctuated
by verticals. Parallel marks
and geometric irregularities. Turns round. The mind
expects the grid.
What spring thaws reveal: nine months
of continuous construction. Chord
and chord and bell.
This viewed obstruction ,frontier boundaries,
where once had been. A consternation
of paved sound. Greenspace, confidence. I put my house
in order. We know our histories,
edited. Washed out, hollow rhythms. Distractions
gap the paths.
Such grammar, loss. Mere words arranged on paper.
A day to silence: summer. A poem, gentrifies.
Poorly framed, and captured. Expand
the page; tear down
the yard, this
shoddy construction. By definition: you can still
hold your breath.