The bird in the back porch planter-cum-hot tub, city stretching behind but what are they doing here still (the birds), haunting the nooks of my house, when someone toppled the nest days, weeks ago and no more eggs, no pile of twigs remain, nothing, what are these birds looking for, up down and inside everything?
And here's the real Wire, the wires, a man-made track and tracing, an electric web to look through and see the skyline hazy downere by de oshun. From here they look flat, almost, except for the phone lines in delicate long curves getting farther away, and I remember when a Comcast guy was up on that pole, wondering if he'd cut the right one, and who'd know with so many, how can anyone be un-connected in this city with so many wires? Where are all the beginnings and ends -- if we could put pot-of-gold screensavers on every tv and computer, what a strange rainbow hunt. What a strange sliced up view and how nice to have the Internet inside.
From the ground below, from a rat's view, perhaps, another dissection takes place. spring chaos.
spring chaos and plants burst out like hulks from nowhere, out of hiding, breaking barriers, pots. Making a general mess of things, putting terra cotta in its place.
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