Is there a davenport tagged with a scrawling yellow & black plea on a turnpike?

Was it torn in the dark from a concrete block home with a slick dirty square room where nothing is ever missed or mentioned again?

Does it stink of butane, expelled fear, and burned human skin?

Never mind, it’s not our property; don’t give it any notice.

It’s only the Bard’s abstract and brief chronicles of the time.

It’s a suburban basement with papered-over windows, or a single castoff shoe along an Interstate highway.

What story goes untold; and who’s torment vanishes, without full disclosure?

The match was struck without our seeing.

The child screamed without our hearing.

The tourist begged without our caring.

As the debris clutters up along our periphery.


7 thoughts on “Debris

  1. There’s this Guy Davenport that really appreciates fragments, as u do Edgar.

    Sometimes debris piles up to rise out of the sea “like the backbone of an ass” to make metropolitan land worth plenty until the next quake.

    Wonder what will spring up to live in the plastic bag biome? The radioactive niche? Will one look like a lizard with Rumsfeld’s wattle? Will another need Cheney’s robotic heart? Or will it be as smooth and accommodating as a Democrat, glistening sliding through rubble looking for the overturned vats of fast food fat?

    Force people to try this experiment on one of Jupiter’s moons. Or let give this love to Venus. Why f up Earth? Jealous and fearful of her beauty. How is it so hard to out work the lazy?

  2. This was incredible writing. It’s so true that there that there are endless stories hidden in desolate and forgotten objects. I’ll think harder next time I see something on the side of the road.

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