Monday, March 12, 2007

Eruv II. (revision)

Turning the inside *in* makes a cut to air
Material here our hands and tools die
Make us instruments if not a tunnel
For their labor recollected in intersections

Time squares lived rooms since we are
Sometimes wherein air nets mesh to
Sky again the dead or dig a portal to

Lived chips tend slivers see no thing
Notwithstanding a roof without a house
Eye beams convey me as you push us around
Where time won't be put the *socius*

Remains what we must be consequentially
Of saws as they see they cut a shade to lift
Light from its impossible place posited in
“real” structures evictions who wouldn't stand

Still in our immanence transcendence already
Against beginning or end cuts interrupt
Unsalvageable over our heads elsewhere above

Cinders dawn designs will be demolished
Fresh Kills cut to any gull any blood shed
In our backyard Niagara's dead call us back
From property relations to process.

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