There in suburbia, backed up against a neighborhood nature park— that plot of land indemnified per the ordinance of the city’s new incorporation; a field sluiced by a creek whose banks are riprapped in a silt fence made of coirs that catch the people’s trash: Gatorade bottles, rusty trikes, a mangled traffic cone catapulted from the toll-way above the ravine; the tollway your brain stopped listening to through the barbed “acoustic attenuation wall" (AAW) that dampens the sound.
Site of Zen | Poem
There in suburbia, backed up against a neighborhood nature park— that plot of land indemnified per the ordinance of the city’s new incorporation; a field sluiced by a creek whose banks are riprapped in a silt fence made of coirs that catch the people’s trash: Gatorade bottles, rusty trikes, a mangled traffic cone catapulted from the toll-way above the ravine; the tollway your brain stopped listening to through the barbed “acoustic attenuation wall" (AAW) that dampens the sound.