Karen Weiser, p.5



2.3.04

Opened by force
          a small medical object
                    an ordinary body miracle
                              slow moving taxi


well rested among objects
          like a sudden awareness of your face
                    I am not at home within
                              the fog of waiting


5th Avenue houses
          a sleep with string
                    interior sounds casual


on another planet’s
          fine serialized sand
                    the elevators move


a city-wide parallel conspiracy
          aligned and abundant, wordless
                    stents for city-flux
                              rocket science as we hold the door