the hands i hold collapse, i'm left tilted, obstructed,
a building built by careless hands
who know not the sturdiness it takes to keep the structure standing.
all i am is something worth tearing down,
demolishing to make way for bigger cities and richer people and taller things
and
empty promises of salvation.
the hands i hold are tired from a cruel days work,
they cannot make room for my vacant premises.
every world has no reason to keep me standing,
arms to my sides,
steel tiles tumbling to the ground slowly.
the hands i hold collapse, i'm left tilted, obstructed.

I make my way among a mighty castle, but to everyone else that is merely ruins. The rubble covers the earth surface, but I pick it up and begin to build anew. The others just watch, fascinated by sight, to build a grave into a ceremony of life. They say their time has frozen in place, but I know it will move eternally. As I lay the bricks, one by one, a new story will start to write, for only the authors who let it be that way, and yet I’ll never realize that my new chapter of life has started, and they’re writing their final sentence. Still building this castle, one by one, but the debris still infects the Earth, when suddenly a thought comes to mind. It darkens and swallows the life. I sink to my knees, drowning in fear, as dark clouds gaze from heaven. I’ll never finish this castle. Humanity will never survive. They’ll slowly fade away, never to be remembered again I’ll never finish this castle, if nobody is here to share the memory.

Repair the world that's broke n with a wrench,
For never can't a fixer.  Can't afford
To fix a mental meaning with a *****,
Though all the world's a floor of concrete poured.
Restore the restoration of the world,
And everything returns to right its place:
The lone construction worker spins betwirled
With bluebirds singing friendly in the face.
Time flies, and so do flying jəllyfish.
Since tempos fugue it, carp the dying day.
Go find a star and make a walrus wish
That aliens would dress away the gray.
The grass is greener if the other side
Where gerbils love and noon has never died.

~
Who can circumnavigate Avalon's depository and the palpable swoop down toward earthier terrain?

Yet, here I am.

Where is your gravity taking me, Kahn?

This building is an invitation, and I am humbled in this sense of arrival. The books are stored away from the light. So a man with a book goes to the light, the serenity of light.

And therein lies the hidden meaning.

But you won't let it become just a building; you want it to remain much a ruin; it's all somehow sinister in its celebration.

Occasional distraction is as important in reading as concentration.

And I'm reading between the lines in a corner carrel, looking out at academic crop circles; I grapple with each texture: it's this combination of imposing austerity and weathered familiarity that you seize upon to make your current landscape hospitable.

This building is an instrument, creates a sound in my head akin to music; and this music remains a glowing source of solitude, all driven by a desire to be hidden but sought after—a celebration of all things lost and unnamed.

Here I find closure by opening a book.
~

the sky is being stolen
so that so much human soup
can high rise
to live above one another
a hierarchy to whisper
in God's ear

sunlight fills the cracks
illuminated grouting

I see clouds skitter by
I'm a prisoner
jealous of their freedom
wishing I could fly

modern behemoth building of the sterile
herded human
              remains in sickness
compartmental

racked for our chemical curing
                          treat-meat

this building is only a single day of abandon
                   away from natural reclamation
taunts are made in the wings
the ants enter and leave freely
drain moth flies frequent most water sources in the building
rodents are at the door
rabbits and groundhogs tunnel in the lawns
hawks circle above using the buildings heat
           the wild world
        allowing our inclusion
   for at least one more hospital stay