Branches of fuzzy sumac
rode a train and a bike and only seeing
the backsides of things contemporary ruins
the steam factory beside the highway (makes steam)
I don’t get why people always assume that these are factories.
They’re obviously refineries.
Honeysuckle and garbage. Plant power, outage.
I am afraid to go out into the cold noise.
I can hear the machines working and when finally
it is silent, I step outside and there are plastic cups
everywhere. They scratch down the street.
Some waiting for others to catch up.
I read cycle diaries under this heavenly fluorescent light.
I learn that Peru is the origin of the potato.
In a half hour, all cameras will reboot and it’ll seem like
two minutes of total secrecy. I use it to scratch my thighs.
I look at this black and white box of a church.
A lot of people think that it’s vulgar, I like it.
