We, the factories,
and here, the mausoleum, the symmetrical people
and their lazy theatre.
The placid chandelier shines pale
over the foyer,
the monotone chimes
sing a flat note.
We, the factories,
the suspension bridge
breaking the wind,
the vernacular of our city.
And resonance?
Last summer
the pool grew thick with algae
while I read dry literature
to impress myself.
Me, the awkward female.
This, the aloofness
that allows this to be.
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Submission Name: less the pedestrians, said the nihilist
