a plateau of platitudes
named palmer park
and this maptangle
is my nest. in the
morning mist, i
refind myself driving
west, insignificance
to the mountains
is my name, among
the trees and houses
i am not much
different to immeasurable
granite. a blood cell
in the city veins
a census number, i
guess; a single letter
in a poem is paid
for with the
city incense i burn
to praise a forward
specificity-