slag fell splat on ready concrete below & i rolled calmly by. concrete always seems ready to serve us without expectation, and we mostly like that. in a century will be still erect? how much spray-paint?
a new tooth in our city of ribs.
& do you know of the excitement you incite? i think you might.
& mine are changing too.
how are you hands, pen, keys, pad, typewriter, fretboard, color paints, burning implements?
i hear you lay fallow, uneasy with anticipation of new & warm bleeding. fresh spray-paint.
i promise to remind you soon. swear.
i have occupied these cavities with something you, and all aparati for that matter, can not contain nor convey.
& oh, i will introduce you two some time soon. possibly this is your initial greeting.
& no need to be overly gentle here.
play with every tool you have ever created, you will never figure this ball of amazing out.
my advice is simply to enjoy every attempt to describe the weight of things you will never be able to lift.
this place is larger than us both, and we stay/sit in reverence.
not unlike pedestrians, peering, titillated by the concrete's caught slag splatter and dissipation.
we will likely enjoy a great deal of spray-paint.
21 April, 2011
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