For Armand F. Capanna II

You said you needed fast architectures, angular weight, something made from blue collared hands. Chiding, maybe even presumptuous, to think it’s better down town in the throw of giants. Literal maps & taxi planes pacing routes and ventricles; if it rises, it shrinks, it if rises, if it rose. Tempo now my dear, that moves allegro ab aeterno. Sodium never sleeps and sleep isn’t about rest but taking time out of time. Cocktailed hours, small holes, the brush and bruise of feet; when narrative rates higher than trees or green minority, it’ll lift you from the gutter if you can get past the doorman. Time and steady hands babel the world in the word.