ropetrace

the wall calendar, the donut plant, the corner cafe,
the pickle district

all poised to make noise in the hallway
all contained in window frames

he regards them thinly
and walks away with the mailbox
tied to his back
no chance he would be cornered
no cause for alarm

one thousand or three thousand
give or take an excuse
and he's situated on a bridge cum balcony
that carries lines of light from tower to tower

cars, pedestrians, cyclists and pets
from shore to shore in confusion and certainty

a nest among the bricks
is another of the remnant primordial vistas
colloquial mysteries
architecture cant seem to eliminate
he watches
read the buildings as they lie in the deck
with their unmonitored amalgamated soundtracks

hornswaggled principalities of sound, noise, breath
lost in water
thin recollections in feeble mirrors
echoes or bedsprings
that mattress roar or fleeting doorway
kills or conquers
no combines with other essential noise
orchestrated incidental music of nature by way of
civilisation

he shivers
by the force of the wind
the wind-shifted sound
the lines of light
the towers, the water
there's always tomorrow
and the view
tonight, counting, bridges, elaborate cornerstones