the house on fir streetI.the house on fir street
the house on fir street shook itself from the mud;
tethered harvest flowers to the mud-black ankles of ruby-children and rivet-bards (the caterpillars who soak their feet in bloomed lightning and Arabian mosses who scream in broken languages when ghosts lap at their soles)
the house on fir street arranged its eyeball curtains like vertebrae, resting soft linen
across its lips, flicking cinnabar onto the flashbulb kneecaps
of busted and beaten circuit riders the house on fir street, with a final push through its rose-thorn
sleep astronaut sleepSLEEP ASTRONAUT SLEEPsleep astronaut sleep
I
makeshift shelters
“I sat at the top of the hill staring out. There were no waves in the water or the air; the birds were silent in their twigs. Across the water, stamped on the horizon stood the Great Pyramid, golden and towering. A heavy violet oppression haloed around its eye. It stood as a beacon for the lost continent across the dark water - and no one could see it but me. Not even Fletcher who sat next to me, letting his gaze fall upon the beautiful sunset. Its existence I discovered in the passing of many moments. I spent
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If you say, I love you, then you have already fallen in love with language, which is already a form of break up and infidelity.
Jean Baudrillard
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