1989 tile project remains

i have anchored myself in anger-
chains pinch the mind
to bleed- a longing
for rest is created
where the iron and
enduring skin meet
the eyes swing open
like arms to embrace
anything, to over paint
this wicked feeling and
fall like Rome in fire, or
meteors of light in to the
oxidized night of pain, a
grooved phosphorescence to
pale the world of ache- still
words rumble and form solid
identity like this-like brick
left to cure
in the sun, and
build a person slowly to withstand
wind and gather a cellar of sand
only to fall prey to its own
construction, the echo chamber
the halls meandered, that collect something
more insidious than rain, that busts
the walls out, and needs to be build up
again.