Listen,
I live in a house of rectangles, squares and ovals
and all over low light, low sight, low slight
of hand
brand by command or
by demand
or by god damned something else
something other than my innocent geometry
in the suburbs.
Filed under: Mark
Cool. Quiet Mark in the corner comes to life with an exclamation, an assertion. Somebody buy the man a drink! Wicked quick poem, angles inside and in the rhythms too, cool,
oh i hear you, do i hear you.
innocent geometry in the suburbs – oh my goodness, but that is where the magic lies, in those very unexpected perpendiculars and hip-curves. A spider weaves her web with precision, she uses the mathematics of creation and instinct. It was frosty this morning, my hands are still cold.
from staccato to flow and then finding again its own perfect innocences…in the house or home of its referent of normalcy…