Interesting watching the building crumble across the road.
Hauled down by men with thick gloves, defiant to frost a foreman’s rough speech, the old
taskmaster. They break center first, cutting, smashing
breaking and then sweeping, clearing away what was there before.
They spread to the wings. It’s still going on now. You wonder if it will ever
ever end, but it will. And as it falls you know it will. That part of the city
is alien land. You see what’s it like when it’s cleared, when it’s fully cleared, before we.
ever set our devious plans.
One day the last stone will be swept
away. It’s just a memory. They’d have to convince you that you
drank coffee, bought that book on Vaudeville’s
fall. New memories will be shaped
on the place the stones became powder.