what we don’t know is vast enough
to fill up all of space;
the things we know could fit inside
a shambles, like — this place

but still we stagger bravely on
to conquer all, we go —
for it would seem we’re unaware
of all
that we don’t
know

so come, survey the works of man,
the glories of the earth —
and give praise for the vanity
to which he’s given birth

for all the light may touch can now
gaze fondly on this place —
so come, survey the mighty works
of us,
the human
race

---

Photos for this and the previous seven poems in this series by Sean Pavone.

like this place, i am a relic:
irrelevant in a world of 
shouting and shooting --
there are no armies 
led by poets, and 
no one ever
has their
minds
changed
anymore, we
continue to turn
up the volume, while 
ever tuning out opposing
voices - or better yet, we
caricature them as something 
other than we know they intend 
to be - after all, humor is
the universal solvent, and
our enemies are certainly
fair game to whatever
tools we may see fit
to use, given the
high stakes that
are involved -
at any rate:
in storage
we keep
that
which we
hold to be
so dear that
we dare not use
it publicly, or even
privately - things we 
treasure to such a degree
that we never touch them at
all - like our ideals, which we
keep safely in storage, so we
can point to them in times
of crisis and not actually
use them or anything,
for we might break
them if we were
to anything
that rash

this was no shrine of mammon, this;
it was a place of honest toil,
according to the man who let me in —

i wander all around these grounds,
and try then to imagine
what all this looked like in its day and pomp

for “this perspective”, only, is
what we are gifted with;
whatever “this” may be for you or me —

and mine right now is of a place
that once was full of life,
but now lies fading – empty – unremarked.

i still believe in human life,
i still believe in love and hope,
i won’t be hollowed out of my belief

for everything and nothing, are
the same to one who’s shattered;
and distance is no barrier
to grief

They used to tell me I was building a dream
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plow or guns to bear
I was always there right on the job

They used to tell me I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

“Brother, Can You Spare A Dime” (1930) by E. Y.  Harburg and Jay Gorney

---

A ladder was built to do a job,
So do a job it did:
When “reach above” was needed, well,
It never ran or hid

Until one day the need was gone,
The latter left to rot –
Although as full of usefulness
As when it first was bought

As with the ladder, so with men
And women that were here —
Their usefulness abandoned by
Their erstwhile puppeteer –

Once we were taught, as little kids —
The words still true, and sound —
“Love people and use things, and not
The other
Way
Around.”

the factory ceases operations, and
the building is abandoned —
the sun still finds its way in

as do i

in bright enough sunshine,
even old wood
seems new

once, while still alive,
this place wore clothes
that spoke of business and
affluence

and many passed through its doors
as a means to buy groceries
and clothes for their children

the sun still finds its way in
even among the retired,
the abandoned, the
less-than-chic

in bright enough sunshine
even old wood
seems new

as can we