but in my world that is unlikely.
To happen that is. Others have
and will pass by in their successful
pursuit of possibility, quite possibly.
We anticipate it.
In our dreams.
Every other or third
night I dream such izzzy
things varying; degrees of contingency
notwithstanding nor should they
be given so much as half a
chance in that rather
dispirited colosseum, leaning as
it does, sometimes, or not, as in
others, but in all, dilapidated. No
doubt, a dream-symbol of my less-
than-perfect declining corp. But
when it becomes a church its less-
than-perfectly distinguished
architecture still does not diminish
the essential sort of midwestern
mid-century quality of the
neighborhood which can be no
other than my neighborhood.
Being, don’t you know, begun
and ended in my head. Hence
its quality noted above. Would
that it had other prospects of
possibility in its severely
circumscribed , temporally confined
soon-to-be-demolished limited
liminal (if that’s accurate) ex-
is-stance.
But, I wouldn’t know, nor could I say.
Of that, I am sure. But that,
confidence, should
Never be used as a reliable
stepping-stone to the truth.
It is spongy and disintegrating.
In the most general way this
renders it poor for stone
building. Unstable, even
hazardous. But that is the
way of dreams. Not to be,
unstable, as I said three lines up.
Not to be trusted. Unreliable. In-
substantial, as ideas above all.
