A Refutation

Every building

is a prison.

 

Every tree

is a bell.

 

Poetry is an attempt

to own the environment.

 

Before the written word

there was speech.

 

Before Speech

there was the body.

 

Before the body

there was essence.

suspension snapped

a bridge painted the same color

as the sky fears its own lack

of identity, staring down into the dark

water beneath its belly

its steel spine itchy from all the vehicles

that traverse its body

the metal pests rub rubber

against its skin

the bridge loathes its condition

and yet its purpose is clear

and it accepts its position with patience

until an earthquake or whirlwind

snaps its suspension and frees it

haunt memory

an infant’s eyes

and what’s behind

how about when love’s denied

for the first time

the longing for milk

that look of anger

will it haunt memory

at what age will judgement

seize the child

the separation

the absence

the labeled cardboard boxes

filling the otherwise empty room

 

this is the change

that does not come about

 

this is the thought

of forgiveness lost

 

to the void

 

and yet love remains

even if it’s battered and abstract

feeling built into

any human being native to a city

transported to the same space

fifty years before

would be lost

 

an alien world where if they’d stay

they’d never be themselves

 

could it be that structures

influence thoughts

that brick  and mortar

project emotions independent

of any presence

 

that feeling is built

into creation

An Average Urban Journey