7.25.15

Sometimes the old is broken bricked down eave by eave
plaster ashes shattered into gutters into ocean and something new
stone glass or plastic is snapped together in its place
until someday a body takes a liking to a party makes a vote
saves a building or even a facade and what we have then is
a sort of artificial permanence
like a church or an ocean, some kind of rock that stays for a life or two and then
by earthquake or solar fusion is swept or boiled away.

Two years nearly since this project began.
The Thistle is a hardy flower.
It blooms and greens in dry dirt and stone and baking sun,
all spines and bramble with a bright eye
and if you cut its skin it bleeds white.
So our Thistle from concrete and dust and drywall
and so our spines of prided and fear and damned determination
But sure as the name, we bleed.

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Marack Friesach

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