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On Glass
Folder:
Older What is the expression of experts of knowledge,
With the outlet consumed, dusted, and gone?
Where do ideas go? – At night
Rationality out the window when prowlers lurk.
Garbage landscapes; prison barge
The dinging buoy, the droning lighthouse
Can you smell what has taken over?
I envy the Wasaki Clan and all they have
To offer to the mineral industry.
Clean and precise;
Cold calculation.
More efficient than . . . mathematics
It is the theme of understanding.
Wait your turn; the wheel comes back shortly.
The twisting sonic blast of sunlight on a clear day.
The blood gets pumping these days
The thronging multitude is out in droves.
On the street, in droves.
Out on the pavement – lifeblood of city
The city thrives
The city is out in droves.
I wonder . . . what is below the city, if not pipes and tunnels?
I think back on childhood, peering at the ground.
A puddle on the sidewalk after a passing rain.
Sky is clear and I look into the mirror of the water.
I see objects: light poles, a hydrant, edge of building.
I remember pondering the possibility of a parallel universe
Below the city’s surface,
Seen not through the puddle’s mirror,
The water’s window.
