many-turning music
in a warehouse slowly
molting its office scales,
drop ceiling tiles removed
to reveal giant wooden beams
nestled into an overbuilt steel I;
below the I a cream-
painted vestigial pipe
has swallowed a thin pump looking
like an octopus' head.
here, perhaps,
it is possible to make things that are not futures,
trapped in infinitesimal xeno'speculation,
but which are presents
and will unfold into multitude.