Some colors are unearthed by rain, some by architects
- May 2016
Seagrass, like it was, dew solidly clinging
to everything in the vase
Glass surfaces, inward for a moment
There is no air in the shape of these things
only in the absence
that surrounds them
Incendiary vapor, a pulse-pull of reaction and interaction
that descends with time
and petals from cherry blossoms
and rain [but only the softest rain]
Herringbones trick us again
make us think of cardboard and expensive dinners
when what’s really going on
is a perverse sort of pattern recognition
It’s a game to be played backwards
counting piles of tiny cards
And taking some of those cards away from your friends
It’s Tuesday, and the sample size is all wrong
What goes in doesn’t come out
You’re lying to yourself about it
A fatal error. Coding sequence.
You left the pills
right next to the other pills that look very similar
and now you can’t remember which one you marked
with the little yellow sticker
and for what because the little yellow sticker
has fallen off the pill bottle
It glows like a votive on the glass table
One meaningful reflection
gold and chrome in the shape of the Liberty Bell
The dying helium balloon from last July
makes a descent, reconsiders, and floats
for another two months
Some colors are unearthed by rain
some by architects
Machines of indeterminate size graze for work
against a colonnade of smoke, back and forth
with the bones and the soil
An entire city of factories with no living quarters
The digging is done in twelve-hour shifts
down, down through the mantle to the core
and out the other side
fantasizes one of the heavy equipment foremen
he always rides shotgun
When the whistle blows
it’s time to head for the breathing warehouses
that lie beyond the perimeter of the dig site
It’s safe to say there are no leaves to rake
and no pencils to sharpen here
Alkaline streams
turn the solids that fall into them
into shapes that reverberate
It sounds like crickets in August in a lower register
longer between the echoes of rubbing legs
and slowed down, monophonic
no stereo
Wings strum the harps on command
waking Russian silos
empty except for gravity
and darkness and the breath of insects
Water can be heard but not seen
the air is humid
Running liquid estuaries of rust and chemicals
pool and collect but go nowhere
Evaporation will be impossible in these conditions
until the hatches are opened
But they never open
not even during the drill
that’s happening
right now
A single red signal light
revolves above a steel door
Cameras huddle together for warmth
in silicon incubators
built in 1952
They are safe now
and have learned to care for their young
Recording the darkness
Bats sense the artificial photosynthesis
echolocate in coded silence
to avoid laying eggs in the dangerous leather equipment cases from which their young would never escape
It makes you cry
only once and then you clear
and respond to the frame instead of the painting
Gold and chrome, built in a factory
or excavated from a landfill
it’s effect is the same
A dark-green trash bag
inflates with the morning breeze
and blimps up into a Sycamore
It’s Tuesday and the color is all wrong
for a Tuesday
A carefully selected box of spraypaint was left
in a corner and eventually forgotten
until accidentally tripped over
The box is once again considered
and a single orange can is removed
The sun is born and it’s a mess
wrinkled corners of brown and green
mix with the smell of mint
and operating room anaesthetic
Central Palomere sunsets were always this way
halting and bilious deaths
over broken train cars and blown sand
Lately you can’t get the images out of your mind
even sitting against the cold shelf of a dune
Seagrass waves
back and forth
almost cuts your bare legs and with the dark
comes cormorants
and black shapes that know where you are
but not your name
[note: The Oregon Corridor Map describes 77 different routes to the Central Palomere Excavation Cathedral]
