What if my house were built upon shifting sands

  For Karl Marx, on the 140th anniversary of his death


What if my house were built upon shifting sands

With their unending sequel of recognitions

Of barren laid lands, sometimes a bone

Sometimes a whole civilization

At times that knot in the stomach

That tells you beware of the surface

What lies below is what counts


What if my home were to rise

In the blinded eye of the storm

Caught between prevailing winds

And sudden drops of pressure

Its shutters torn, its door shattered

Unable to contain or be contained

Flying from Kansas to Kazakhstan

Its wounded foundations

Spilling atmospheric terror


And what if puzzled future half-knowers said

“We can’t be certain, yet they moved”

Of that sand and wind civilization

Harder to decipher than the People of the Sea

Their only tracks their rotten fuels

Depleted uranium and glow-in-the-dark

Half-truths ingested with the speed of light

In the fraught tenements of perilous might


Pina Piccolo 14 marzo 2023


Cover image: “Flying House” by timkir,  on DeviantArt