Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Tranquility Base
The clouds give way.
Brown becomes green with patches of brown.
Green with patches of brown crystalize into squares.
Sqaures subdivide, their borders taking shape, making cell walls from 2-lane highways, cyclone fencing, and hedgerows.
The temptation from above is to think that there aren't enough people out here to fill all of this space. Our broad-winged shadow cuts across a truck lot and I know that the oppsite is true. There's never enough concrete, and always enough time.
One hundred years from now, this will be the moon.
Hello, Iowa.
The clouds give way.
Brown becomes green with patches of brown.
Green with patches of brown crystalize into squares.
Sqaures subdivide, their borders taking shape, making cell walls from 2-lane highways, cyclone fencing, and hedgerows.
The temptation from above is to think that there aren't enough people out here to fill all of this space. Our broad-winged shadow cuts across a truck lot and I know that the oppsite is true. There's never enough concrete, and always enough time.
One hundred years from now, this will be the moon.
Hello, Iowa.
Comments:
Post a Comment
