Friday, November 30, 2007

Commute (12)

I see a woman sitting from girlhood to old age holding a jagged chunk of concrete. By the time her hair has gone gray the concrete is still concrete and at the same time it is entirely changed. She has discovered properties in concrete no one knew, or else she has imbued those properties. Sometimes it can be said to weep. If you watch closely you can see it dreaming, shuddering in its sleep.

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