Would, that were it possible, we could

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.