I.

fluttering around the repair
unprofessional as we are
this could be everything
the several stitches
and tiny jokes
an entire universe closed in that knot of black thread
the one below the second lowest button

spring informal 2010

we built these streets
we did
honest
with the hands and hairs of our grandfather
spit and bones and hairs matted into greasy bricks

"Lay em out real good boys."

and one
by one

there it is

oozing down the boulevard
one flaneur looks at the other
pinching a velveteen waist cloth
"And who'd have thought these used to be curtains."
the ginger in linen titters
and the crunch of fingernails and cartilage
it's lost somewhere below the fine italian soles




This is a test.