Nails are driven into wood
And things are made
You could take an arm and wrap it in gauze and then wrap it in cloth and even cover it in plaster
You can put tape upon tape until your fists are like rocks
You can take a smooth piece of wood and scratch an idle mark here and another there
Phone calls can break your heart no matter the century
Bicycles to aeroplanes to home theaters and satellite television
Putting the professional back in
Hanging the lighting
Preparing the wonder
I don't know how so many things work, they just do
You're on a beach, touch it
There's the sun
Location:Portland St,Baltimore,United States
1 comments:
I love this poem. I see a catalog of making--yes, as in one of those famous Walt Whitman lists--an orgy of passive voice leaving out the maker and the consumer. I see history.
"And things are made" It is theatre.
"Preparing the wonder" It is theatre.
"You're on a beach, touch it"
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