Waves rewrite territories. When the city expands
its circumference, the curves of signatures turn
to hard edges. Settlements end with approximation.
After tremors, seawalls rise, suspension bridges
the idea of subdivisions. Residing in a port town
risks loneliness. He was an isolated vertex.
What matters is to generate edges resembling a delicate web. An intersection
for at least three new corners, each sidewalk swept by brooms, tires,
a body. Unpolished bricks imprinting patterns when I sleep. A new map
to keep, lose and keep again. Marks fade with each new cardboard
box stacked folded and flat. Seasons only disappear when one adapts
to temperature. Soda fizzles to solution. How can one measure
satisfaction? Fog becomes smoke. Continue, accumulate. The city
takes care of itself, of how it is wound.
A line passing through the city’s edges
more than twice is a violation. Here was
what you have abandoned. You are foreign
only once. Depart and arrive at each
iteration of a home.
A sidewalk beggar–
Long Live The Great Emperor
from ん, 2015年2月1日