Tuesday
Thursday
Trigen
The sign hammered to the bricks says Trigen,
and by the sounds I hear, tonight you sing again
Pushing the irons living out of their apartments,
vacant lots, rusty dirt, asleep on the escarpments.
Trigen, Trigen, what is it your bellows make?
A ragman's finger that doesn't break?
An ivy's roots that always take?
Trenchant hands that scratch and rake?
Grays Ferry cuts a diagonal scar
felt underneath the technician's cars.
Walking like moths to a flame,
their soundtrack is the drone at dawn.
Trigen, Trigen, save me from my time not told,
savannah grass under light of gold,
a spindly tree, alone and old,
like sperm to an egg, the snakes grow bold.
Trigen, my sweat is slinking down your steps
you've got the walls of a tomb and your next
song's always playing.
The black streets are greying, your fires braying,
your windows stuck like hands, quietly praying.
Tuesday
Rosemary
enthymeme - a syllogism with an unstated assumption which must be true for the premises to lead to the conclusion
Shards of these porous trestles, powdered in the night – it can only be the work of the master’s frenzied, knuckled might.
The three parts:
There are remnants of two cinder blocks on
It must have been the work of a martial arts master. (conclusion)
Only a martial arts master can break cinder blocks. (implicit premise)
Pleonasm - the use of more words or word parts than necessary to express an idea clearly
I love walking by the Christian Science church park buildings.
Labels: walks

