What’s to become
of the Carnegie—its proud
welcome in columns and fire
places, not flexible
enough to withstand e-books’
mid-morning LED yawn. Even question
marks lose ground as text dispels
subtext contorts context contrives
textile streams this side
of the muddy—I’m gone.
Am arrivals in line with departures
without delay 80% of the time.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 