it’d be a lifelong versioning bookworming

to accurately document this place

history, herstory, our story

the erections, the constructions

the tenants and owners, the architects and landlords

the famous and tragically nearly and the egomaniacs who flamed out like shooting stars

their cars, the dinette sets and entertainment cabinets shoved through their doors

lugged by big sweaty men, cussing –

oh and the kids, waggling gaggle of goslings

who have envisioned every nook with their own so-secret playtime dramas

- superman and unnamable heroines have saved this place a thousand agonies –

oh and the birds! Indigenous and migratory. Oh and the insects, those

teeming hordes inhabiting cracks crevices in and amongst the infrastructure itself

feeding on the wood, feeding on the glue, feeding on the people

feeding on the tenants of some silly sentience

that is really just a visitor to the long,

long, long links in this chain of

how a city goes on.