Asher Blake’s The Inherited Farm


The Inherited Farm

I wish I could have different ideas than about myself,
Sons of Texas.

We sleepless three days moan in meditation.
Room empty – a coffeepot and three foot siphon to the side.
The room-tomb become a cavern.

We are crackpot custodians,
anarchists of the chain of geodesic domes.
None of us have made the Waco postcards.

Like a little bird in my hands she swoons to me.
Why are the Sons of Texas so sexually dimorphic,
Patrick Lawler?

2 thoughts on “Asher Blake’s The Inherited Farm

    • I don’t know where this pic is from. The poem references two places for me though: the Monolithic Dome Institute, which is a factory shaped like a caterpillar outside Austin, and the Octapark which is a set of 8 octagons that form an apartment complex – slanty views and closets from nowhere – in Conway AR. When I lived there I wrote a manifesto to the octagon and would have shared it with the dome people, as I figured them, at MDI, but got lost, thank grace.

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