Karen Weiser, p.5


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