Air # 17

Black hole in the midwest
Four eyes
Flat on our backs, bare skin
Discovered an enchanted
An understated manifesto
In the stacks of a flooded library
Picturesque vision
By the same door
The word is a stone
And an open sword
And you can’t stop this
It’s three stories high
Loaded with electricity
Air number thirteen
Three stories high
9000 square feet
And the fans are on fire
And their water is on our floor
Layers of dust and carbon
An unsuspected surveillance
We can compare mosquito bites
And wish for vacations