Order this writing in the collection book Layers of Creation available for only 1795 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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Strange Ways
Mary Block
We take the house as it offers itself-
in pieces. The elevator
knob’s in your pocket
with loose tiles from the stairs.
The ceiling crumbles for our collection
of plaster stones. The dry light
empties on the floor, and we
collect it in buckets.
We’ve strung ourselves together with glances
and string from the kitchen.
We speak in similes curved like tungsten-
We speak like filaments curved to burn.