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Andrea Baker
POEMS
 

(unquote) a continuation

A building cast in water, the reflection of architecture

the storage of grain, which, among other tribal systems of conservation, comes to mind for the beauty of its practical houses

Lost among the grain, mice sleep, missing, perhaps even from themselves


birds have subsided for the moment. The sky is a world of ringing bells. Nose up, eyes open. We used to give them to my mother, ceramic statues of labeled bird species, believing she loved them. Though it was us she loved.



How you find yourself, when weeding poison ivy, reaching to pull it by the vine as if touching it in a deeper part could bypass an allergy; as if reactions where only reactions to the surfaces of things. But what is a life well lived?

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The historicism of design preoccupied with concerns of authenticity produced an expanse of signifiers but in this grappling to actualize signifiers true authenticity is lost.

the vertical + horizontal… the respective tensions of suspension and compression…will
not. And…



And then I do not know what happened. There was very water held back from without air. Birds and fish. Very little freedom. Tightness of stomach and breath. Then someone laughing. A face muted by spinning, arms out, to the ankles, to the knees, in skin colored water.




There is the small fact of my life on my block where we are too found to follow; where, when we put too much trash in the pail on the corner the trash men took the pail away from us and the landlord said, you know, they took the pail away because it was being abused. He said, suitably braced by desire, an extreme must be synonymous with its own reversal.


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