Somewhere in that construction
assembled book by book
hexagon by hexagon
in the visions of Jorge Luis Borges
there lies a depot
where all of the words
typed, scribbled, imagined
futures presents, pasts,
are collected, categorised and catalogued
so they may be ordered
so that they may be homed
in 410 page collections bound and
backed in crimson
as to allow placement into hexagonal homes.
I get the feeling it’s where my lost poem is.
Image found here: http://ffffound.com/image/4a52b079f1bd5708aa0d5c45a6e6b9325edc509c
This lost poem thing may continue for a while.