Sunday, August 30, 2015


If you could see me there,
peripherally –
sitting at my desk daydreaming
of something outside,
either alone or with another,
dusting off ideas and words
with an archeologist’s brush,
I think you might think I’m
attentive or vigilant to what
takes place here and now:
movements, discourse

My mind is an eruption
that either spews crude content
that eventually solidifies into
utility or buries itself from eyes

I drove past the clinks and clanks
of a jackhammer the other day
while the whitish dust tickled the air
and I saw that it was concrete:
so foreign and so requisite

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