Storm and Foundation
Every brick liberates itself from slime and pitch. There is no window of escape or door to open. Only a violent fragmentation of domestic entitlement remains. High step over glass and metal. Floor tiles mix terribly with roof shingles. The wires spill from dilapidated walls like cooked noodles. Bigger ones sway like constricting serpents. Some even spit out light and fire like roman candles. Hurdles of pipping turn navigation into an arresting magic trick. Ruinous heaps of splintering wood bite your mind with a command to not lean or sit. The marble is where it was originally, just split into immovable chunks of former glory. Water shoots from from the ground like a national park guizer. Disrupted slabs of concrete have a way of making war on search and rescue. We must breath in the the pesky spores of insulation. Ubiquitous clouds of paint concealer and dust coat our exposed skin. Who would even dab the corners of their mouth with a house deed of poison irony? Yet the compulsion to put things back into some kind of working order over takes rationality. So you stand the toilet seat up and wipe down what is left of the bathroom mirror. Out of all the hazardous material, it is the junk mail that makes you slip. Restaurant menus and coupons have that glossy finish like black ice. People don't help. They look, hold their mouths, and look some more. The theories of culpability will come later. Right now everything is in slow motion, which is the natural speed of befuddlement. Deep confusion forms tarpits under the feet. It yokes the neck and shoulders with fifty pounds of sacked grain. To wipe sweat from one's brow is a big decision. In moments like these, you want something to connect you back to center mass. Eat a sandwich. It doesn't matter if you are hungry. Count the money in your wallet. You must jumpstart the program of continuity. Reach for a habit. Any one will do. Piece the old world back together with emergency phone calls. Concepts of private and public are now a base alloy that can not fetch a price. You gaze upon the magpies and feel more artificial than you ever have in your entire life.
