where is the power house,
metal books he said.

concrete palaces for those
that prey.

he grew it plant like,
fought it,
numbered it
thirteen.

glue boards of writing
stuckt with words.

drawing into the process
of nothing,
his life of mind
in metal made large.

I am small in this place.

I have seen him take photographs.

i am small in this place

slate looms large
thrown unbalanced
waiting for water
to start the slide

small boys know to run
at the noise, shelter
from the war.

I know no such thing,
my soul slides into mud,

i am small
©sbm