A thousand souls sleep in the old Sears building
with a view of downtown to die for
space enough for unread things
safe art on safe walls
for everyone and none
and the latest in coffeemakers, speakers, screens.
Just down below they have wine and bread
smokes, sidewalks, policemen
all living aside live music
and old music, trains, poverty.
Lower still lives the labyrinthine care of childcare
cauldrons of heat, bundles of communication, power
power for everyone and none
living near such lives and familiar music
and euphoric desperation of the building’s gospel.
Down and around the way within the turning walls
of concrete, pillars, repurposed spaces
the unlucky fortunate few
find the yellow door
the way that faintly sings to the sleepers high above
to wander down and around and through
to a world of sorrow, possibility, truth.
