What Can We Build Underground?

“He’s not building a playhouse for the children what’s he building in there?”
—Tom Waits, “What’s He Building?”

all the machines go out
of sync / down rhythm / up soaked

garments / I can’t smell the ginger
essence the way I used to

before everything stopped
spinning / I want to steal your words

about all that imaginative wood
I want to run

the architecture of poetry
the poetry of architecture

on parallel tracks / neither express
always local / makes no sense

to skip a stanza
when those abandoned ones

have true ciphers
on their platforms to decode

all the notes I scrawl
in the margins

of a page with no margins
become the scaffold

for this wall
that intentionally leaks

sound into breakdown lanes
bleeding into view

the next grid
of streets above us

delineates where the traveling
gets good and gritty

nowhere near as grime written
as the subterranean

dwelling captioned possibility
Saturday mornings become sacred

suicide doors with broken handles
cannot touch me / I have a retirement plan

capital letters shout out zeroes
the lower case hum

spells poiein

One thought on “What Can We Build Underground?

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