O there is an immense, symmetrical beauty in the
Outwardmost lines of doorways, a wondering boundary
That marks the edges of ceilings, and a flair in flaked paint
That could spring out upon the savviest hunter of chic, without warning;
All these things are noticeable.
Make sure the spiraling lines of the grains in wood
Do not escape you. Endeavour to describe, in every pinwidth,
A mountain broken into shards and crushed then recast
Mournfully in the lumpen blocks of these walls.
Fashion epics of the bloody wars won within each tile
And the wounded crumbs of grout that lie silent in the bathtub.
Film of dust, you are endlessly fascinating;
Window crack, you warrant observation; and in each
Rusted pipe-under-sink is an enduring aesthetic pleasure
Limited to the appreciation of whoever cares to looks:
Of garbage bags. Of potatoes. Of cleaning products. Amen.
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