Ecologies by Michael Haeflinger

I have lost the film.

The auditorium

with the garden in the center

fills with students

with light bulbs

for eyes. Because

planners decided

not to finish the city,

I come home half-erased.

The speakers are broken.

All of a sudden

I learn Spanish and sing.

The ghosts

in the closet

are friends

from nowhere.

 

I remember the film.

The first ten minutes

replaced with vinyl couches.

Teeth dance between two empty lots.

Factories tacked

to a lone tree

between two

horrendous smiles.

 

When I examine the length of drool,

I realize that I am at home,

no disappearing.

 

Just never there.

 

 

About Michael Haeflinger

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