You leave the gallery and long-limbed bronzes
which is OK since it's being streamed
with gaps for reconciliation
by people filing in . . . as what? . . .
let's call them inadvertents . . .
visiting the exhibition retrospectively,
following Zoomed corridors
through an opening in the text
and into the next scene
of customers at the counter in a diner
rewritten while obsessing the commonplace
with thoughts of odysseyites
going round and round the roundabout
in your old neighborhood
resonating with the rhythmic beat
of a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil
shaping steel red-hot from the fire
as if it were planned . . .
as if it were the answer to the blue question
glued to the ATM . . . empty, unused
on a one-way street
informing each and every touch of the day . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |