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machines for living
profit centers
anything can be holy or profane
bricks are blessed and blasted
mine mine mine
citta d'autore
I walk through streets of my own making
under a bright light given to me
just moments ago
with the weight of stars on my back and the sign of the wave
in my hand
elements melt in the solar furnace
electron dance and slow stardust fall accrual sighs
15 billion years and just getting started
while we,silly and inquisitive monkeys,
build cathedrals,palaces and hovels
raise high a tree to mark the skeleton
of the new marvel
watch as old stores burn
a fire in the heart
ain't like a fire in the street
architecture of dreams, offices, orders, terminals.
allegations, museums, insinuations, assembly and dispersal,
procrastination, warehouses and rowhouses, whorehouses
and whitehouses, penthouses and farmhouses
all holy all profane and waiting for us to move our furniture

- Ken Peters


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