2 flat planes of gray pancake batter

held up by epoxy coated rebars clinging to invisible bones

cooked up in some buttery dreams years ago 

some kind of business plan

some kind of notion

some kind of blueprint unknown 

left sitting in the sun and the rain

little cuts in the epoxy grow

into metal tendons bubbling rust

pushing off pancake batter in chunks

some kind of urge that cuts earth from sky

some kind of math in our blood

some kind of hard edge to defend

strewn with mickey’s 40 ounce bottles and dirty sleeping bags now

and half formed graffiti pieces painted on the floor

unpracticed scripts of color and form

some kind of hot light buzzing above

some kind of dark level cool below

some kind of difference to be tended

as house sparrows and pigeons

darting in curves

fly between the straight lines in our heads