A Partial View of the Triborough

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve found names, personalities as brittle, excuse me, as braille hints of interest, latched to the slightest meaning. Not parlance. Let me say power. The days rotate on their hinges. I can say I had friends. Sizable numbers, without delay, we were like, I don’t know, an absence. A civilization. Prompt and unlike ourselves at all times: it was as if we could stand to burst, to rapidly be our own engines, rules, buildings, steel columns, iron beams. This is when I said I had a foundry. I had a scale, a summary and reflection, not the desire, but the capacity to be greater in titles and official things. Then I gave it up. I sunk hillsides and fields and ash dumps. I ran the concrete forth and I became the swarm, the throng, corporate in absurdity. Most people in opposition would say these are the words I’ve prepared, while I am a speaker without my text, let the day surprise me. If it falls, it’s me who gathers from idiosyncrasies sentences to shape a state and city.