Bakelite Ridge
Carved canals, bowls and lachrymatories with pearls
Waiting for us the way nothing does
We bring the gender problem to the altar
Accusatory skies map a parallel city
Waiting for us the way nothing does
Old America cools its heels in the archive
Accusatory skies map a parallel city
Bargain basements flood with gentle toys
Old America cools its heels in the archive
Wild and pliant, the wind smelling of sulfur
Bargain basements flood with gentle toys
Arranged on asphalt or hung like arguments
Wild and pliant, the wind smelling of sulfur
Strange climates obscure so many highway faces
Arranged on asphalt or hung like arguments
How many breathing pixels for this portrait?
Note: The first line of this poem is taken from “An Epistle to a Patron” by F.T. Prince.
