Hello old limestone sculpture,
Of an ancient, armored,
Sword-toting,
Roman soldier-
Meet acid rain.
Your chiseled face,
Buffed away,
Until the once completed visage,
Looks like modeling clay.
Slowly, but surely, we return to square one,
That marvelous, marble base,
Laid bare,
Then swiss-cheesed,
By sizzle drizzle.
Behold the disappearing monument,
Matter cannot be created,
Nor destroyed,
But that’s neither here nor there,
Until we put real effort toward conservation,
Of the curated.
I’ve built you up quite a bit,
And I’m finding it harder and harder,
To leave than ever before.
If I could see in here,
I’d find unwound wires,
That cross-cross the cracks,
In the concrete,
And trickles of tap water,
That run down your façade.
But being off-the-grid,
Has it’s own advantages-
If walls could talk,
They’d tell you that,
We reach high here,
In spite of what we’re missing.
No sunrise goes unseen,
People stand on their balconies,
With nothing,
And also everything they need.
Walking,
Blindfolded,
Through the annals,
Feeling the walls,
And using echolocation.
The ancient texts,
Sacred incantations,
Chants of legends,
Contained in texture,
To be deciphered,
By a stylus,
Which cannot,
Transcribe.
Each pressing,
With its own,
Character.
Each batch with,
It’s own,
Flaws,
Hissing,
Popping,
Scratches,
Not even counting,
The shattered ones.
Revolutions,
Dictate,
No matter,
How convoluted,
The labyrinth,
Until it’s time,
To switch,
To the other side.
I once opened an antique drawer,
And found covered in dust,
A tiny burlap doll,
With black buttons for eyes,
Yellow yarn for golden locks,
And a sewed-up mouth,
That stood at about 1/15th my size.
A stand-in,
For me,
Though I was unconvinced,
And didn’t see the resemblance.
I hope there was no malice in this,
It was kind of cute,
In an unsettling way,
Besides,
I get pins and needles enough as it is.
I pinched him,
Just to make sure,
I wasn’t dreaming,
And wasn’t pleased,
With the results.
In the same in vain, insane vein as the hanging gardens of Babylon,
Can you call that which hides the sky a “worldwide wonder?”
What’s more glorious, the grounds they fought their battles on,
Or the shroud the king in power cowered in the tower under?
The File Pile 