a sketch of maps without qualities, or rather, the bird scientist Primoz

birds sing songs, outside my window pane, droning of workers’ tools on the scaffolding, scraping down the last remaining brick masonry, a draft of air bleeds through seams waiting for a caulking, while the wooden floors inside creaks and slants, nothing is level nor even, after weathering and seasoning of 100+ years, asbestos abatement is due, in New York, 2010, May pretends to be November, and my mind drifts to the electronic crackling that birds do not sing of

Concret PH (1958)

Exodus, or the Voluntary Prisoners of Architecture, The Strip, Project, Aerial Perspective