His imagination was not strongly enough attached to power to be able to span the years: it turned toward a cup of tea. To compensate is
to obey a clock. “I clock myself in” is not to say I'm
clocked. It sounds like a
stapler, but what it attaches is me to my office; underneath, jack
hammers stitch rhythm into chaos. Somewhere in the corner, where the
signatures are, I hoard my time; it
grows in
that
right angle like a dust bunny. One with ears to hear voices
through construction. We're due a new elevator, but the car shall
remain the same. Assign it to god or mammon, this servant of the up
and down. The elevators at Reina Sophia looked out on a square; those
at Windward Mall on a plastic playground. We could walk, but we know
the view's
better inside the shaft.
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2 comments:
Love your words just the way they are - that ending is so satisfying! Not sure the borrowed Weil line adds anything at all this time. It may have been your starting point, but you leaped so far from it that it feels extraneous.
Agreed; I think what came after the tea comment was more important to this, but I wanted something tangible from which to work. Will think on this!
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