Woman, Machine, and Mausoleum Vines overtake her house. From the inside, she builds, increases the conservatory with raw red I-beams, replaces panes thickened at the base, grown brittle at the top, with limestone blocks. Mechanically inclined, medicine-taking woman with one hinged hip, unlinked from information, she fades from her clock dials like radium. Dirt's tracked in. Old seeds sprout. Decay measures time.
Back to the Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks