POEMS
Liam Rector
WHERE YOU GET OFF
" the reality of the building lies in the space inside it"
Frank Lloyd Wright
&
where do you get off, calling me the Hyacinth Girl?
Your taken apartment is burning, you worry what you
will inherit. I send all my funds to apartment. Your
"career" has turned banal, your apartment is burning.
You smoked your first cigarette in condemned building.
Your earliest sorrow is building. The mood of your
building is burning. That girl in your building is
burning-the mood you inherit is ashen,
&
somehow the
building is banal. Best now to straighten apartment.
We laughed when you first took apartment-we could see
that it meant you were building. With your feet off the
ground you were banal.
&
who is that girl that you built
with? You inherit the mood that you're born with, burning.
Your first cigarette is still burning. You inherit it
here in apartment-that ash that you burn
&
inherit–
that smoke that now
fl
ys from your building-that air
&
that girl that you lived with-that girl that you
burned with, banal.
The toast pops out, toasted banal. The electric that
cooked it is burning. You breakfast with girl
&
with
bacon-your apartment fIys out of the building. Cruel
gravity is what you inherit.
You always knew you'd inherit. She stares at you now,
staring banal. She inherits the ground of your building–
that girl stands apart now, burning. Partly what she said
in apartment was that
she
was the Hyacinth Girl.
When born, you inherit what's burning. In this case, the
banal apartment-the building you did with that girl.
