Another from the Live Creature Series
There’s an account wherein a piano falls in on itself and a man inhabits a stoop, but calls it his tree. When I step up on him my appearance grows around. My torso gets weird and I start to discombobulate. I swerve because I don’t mean anything. There’s a quality of vastness or great magnitude, but that’s it. And this doesn’t irk me. It’s been chosen for me with an even demeanor and I highlight it across these buildings which are the brows of my neighborhood. If you’re looking for me, you watch for my brother. His shirts are striped; his stoop is his. He stands, turns, and is a kind of yard, breaking, with small chairs swimming inside.