down in the quarry there is no noise
Tue Jul 04 2000 at 3:53:23
If you go to the quarry
before the men get there
, the machines stand around
like dead dinosaurs
, and there is
no noise but the noise you make
. I tried to keep mine to footsteps but found myself humming Scarborough Fair. I hummed it once and stopped; I was done, and the sound of slow crunching footsteps was better.
I walked with my head down, looking for things
the machines had unearthed and left behind. I found purple quartz,
I found deer tracks
and a deer vertebra, I found
thin-split layers of limestone with shadows
in them that sometimes resolved themselves into a curled fern, or the whorl of a shell, or little tiny bones,
frozen flat like a xerox
. The dirt on the ground was good. Mostly beige dust, when rubbed between the fingers it hurt, because of all the sharp little things in it, pieces of rock and bone,
pieces of things that used to be here
, whole, things that were almost but not quite done telling their stories.
I like it!
quality elevator time
the possible benefits of waiting in line
Super Doe deer urine
at the moment i have forgotten if i am abraham lincoln or captain ahab - nonetheless i am an important figure in u.s. history
I know. I can't remember.
The Forgotten Color of Lightning
Forbidden, Not Forgotten
Wanting to hear those quiet, even breaths at four in the morning
Be Here Now
Speeding through the desert I found a fire I'd forgotten
we have sought the ugliest things
All that noise, and all that sound
Or at least it used to be
Gone and Forgotten
There are places in this world where mundane, forgotten things have learned to weave their own magic
If over the hills was someplace new and forgotten
in case I have forgotten
to write something here or to contact authors.
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