no facts are sure no eminence is more gloried no thoughts more pure ten times the day is logged into papers artifacts and journals they say more than any book real life the essences of skin and flesh and bone ten times the brain stems energy into a theory a rainbow a painting a poem written down under tears stains sobs catching breaths onto last months utility bill or the latest eviction notice a masterpiece of hearted stone words lost in the next day's trash pickup and the ***** stinking men sweating running behind the loud crushing metal truck the plastic bins thrown casually into with callous ignorance go the memories of lost souls poets who might have made Emerson cry choke feel
call me an architect with shaking hands, building buildings built to crumble -- if that what it takes to keep you, so be it; i'll find you in the rubble
i waited for all the people on the streets to return home as i climbed up onto the roof from a ladder on the balcony and watched as the moon rise, for nothing to happen.