i’d rather say nothing but it’s too late
i have so many things to gradually unsay
it’s feeling noonish
in what should be a garden
and i morning dew —
not three adjoining ugly buildings built on tideflat
that one can’t avoid seeing from across the swamp,
that manufactures cures for the ailments of its cause
or some other fishy smelling operation —
it’s getting hot and i’m growing anxious
to seep to shadings of the positions i have taken
to protect my nucleus from the sun —
three ugly buildings sinking into the sea
joined to the bottom of my own atlantis
covered up to the smokestacks but still smoking
