| I walked over sidewalk street by warehouse, through dark, brown mud. | |
| One little dandy lion swayed up from the crack. There ways dirt in it. The crack not the dandy lion. | |
| This is what I am doing right now, not bowling, not standing on your face. Walking slower than slaves, faster than forests disappear. Damp cardboard scattered what-nots. Suddenly I appeared in front of the fence. If you were a small metal box with a hole in it, floating five and a half feet off the ground, six feet from the fence, you would have seen me motion by through time and space. I would not have cared about you or the fence. It was eight feet tall. One sixteenth inch thick corrugated sheet metal with a gray primer finish. Seeing that I wondered, is it true that you couldn't find the scissors? Although it rained earlier the paper note was not destroyed. Part of a note that I found on the drying spottily sunny ground with brown skies over it and a spot of sun. The note, apparently it was ripped off the bottom of a letter by a parent. She had planned to loose some weight this summer, it said. I thought about making it into something you can't even think that i know about. The broken down swing set sat solemnly sideways in the center of the street, tipped over. And suddenly nothing happened. It was then that I planned to dissemble myself and I new that it would not always be supper at sundown. |
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