Poem for Boullee

These are the lonely aisles of the future,
as is common in these parts,
where little is known of history
save a skin of ice.

The hooded gentries,
the hot conceptualist,
and sometimes, the proposition of
race, class or sex. The necklace
of ideas that run up and wash down
the dainty rows of hello.

Yet virtue never stands alone.
It is bound to have friends.
And friend lists.

Waste no time with your hair.
It was long before the sun.
Salt. Idoms of radiance in fact.

But you friend are like a sluice.
A silver cane that records the past.
Eternal enemies, our furniture
of feeling smaller than night.
Delicate rope of your mouth.
Turqoise spool.
Brushed eyes.


The cat fled.
So where are April, May, June?
Little is known of history.
The sun stands alone.

Eight Google Image Results for Frank Gehry