To take something familiar and make it new, I'm told.
This building, right here? A factory of epiphanies.
--!Jace
From: "Tay Arrow Sherman" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: [X] Housepainting Distraction
Date: Wed, 1 Oct 2003 13:03:19 -0400
The room ghosts itself with sheets, though
A single table still blossoms white dribbles
And pliers fluffy with rust.
In the midst of a bleachy graveyard,
It trembles, old crooked oak
Spattered with the white machination
Of downhome transformation.
At any moment it could rain,
The ceiling puking sticky latex primer.
It's all irrellevant. In the next room,
I am a little birch-grey shaving.
My activity: reading a speech by Larouche
on 'Synarchism/Nazi-Communism'
With an _expression_ of bemused incredulity.
Outside the birds are gabbering in a language
Which they make by throwing chandeliers through windows.
-Tay
P.S. Somebody please rewrite this and email it back to me or to the list?
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