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1. not beauty, not failed 2. not stating, not answers 3. not 'of it' but around, 4. not a giant question, 5. not de rigeur, but special 6. not glitter but gotten 7. not Vancouver, not here 8. not for further, sheets 9. shot, ridden attempts 10. to reclude, the house 11. always winds, thunder 12. an abode over hills 13. we all hide under, but 14. not stucco, dear god not stucco failed what? nature intrudes, not nature, what? we glam our outsides, fashion wooden sheen to inner fire, that, we say, remains our prerogative. privileged to avoid the special, easy to be meagerly above or below. what failed? a design shines, an alignment reminds disparate tastes that they exist. what, what if not nature to enshroud, to occlude, to provide a proper domicile, even if a failed mimicry? are we not all stucco and boards; a hidden inside pretending to burst out, a gigantic rainstorm slamming the beach, disrupting the leaves, setting the trees to wildly wave? a shore, a house against the rising tide gets gentrified or surrounded. what we call progress... balcony, i say, a balcony for my kingdom gets going, gets stucco, gets incomparable to a white castle, what if not a Vancouver special illuminates the untidyness we gloss when we say 'activist'? what reactionary fluff gathers to the screen between status symbol and cultural cliche? what unencumbered signal waits to carry our noise blissfully into music and what music exists to organize our noise with or without consent? my east, my condo pantomime, i'm yours. what easy direction could the trees line? what simple flagrant boundry would suffice? a flat screen, a compass buried in the yard, a bird tethered to a spiked fence, gets beyond, get together, get a reason to apply, get your home in order, your papers, get east, a bank approval and citizenship, what more do we need? it isn't the basement suites, the sheets ripped, wine-stained curtains and barbells, it isn't the effect of talking to peers, or a radio playing 'kokomo' over and over again into the night, it isn't a derth of capable responses that satisfies, rather it would be something in the need for order, the rather obligatory shuffling we witness every morning, every damn day toward an aimless poetic with a balcony, downstairs door and stucco. picture after photo after snapshot after jpeg after canvas print after scanner art after charcoal drawing after stagecraft after logo after icon after web graphic after house on the corner after shoot after symbol after picture after photo flash slideshow click through 1976 and then what movie? the stucco is holy the balcony is holy the downstairs door is holy everywhere is holy every special an angel the notepad is holy the other options never followed holy a choice and a necessity what difference? holy the enlarged olympic terror magnified backwards over several decades, holy holy holy juggarnaut of the middle class past, holy what city we desire is the city we receive, holy distance and wage, holy salary and dividend, holy having space, holy city of awnings, holy police, holy garantuan quadrangle in which we all hide, behind closed doors, inside shuttered windows, glaring in our mind's eye at the stucco inside, inside where the rain twangs our skulls between high def channels and regular vhs recordings, holy spangled original wanting a bursted vessel to carry us to sea Who? who? who? who? we're looking at you. we're looking at us. we're looking at each other across a candlelit table with the rain smashing down outside. we redneck accomodate and shuffle into a mortgage, smiling and joining together 'against the neighbours' for their poor taste at the fence. what who? who? ivory flashing and benefits, a wide-angle smile to say 'don't enter my name in your rolodex' or 'i'm not your people.' the bank says yes, keep going, the bank says keep going. not a million, yet. we're under the weather, we're rising, okay. not my neighbour yet also my friend, not my friend yet also my yoga instructor, not my neighbour yet also my dog walking buddy, not my dog yet also my real estate agent's boss, not my boss yet also my condo board president, not my choice yet also my tacit nod.
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Bio:
What is the sum of 5 and 6:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.