Here are strings of unbuilt words about unbuilding.
Here is the shell of an unhatched, crushed egg.
The wind did not hang herself up
and danced wide through a hole struck through stone.
When she comes out of this, she is soft, sinuous, fecund.
I will begin with my contempt and resentment towards those who build homes that will collapse and those that charge rent there.
I will begin with my contempt for those who seek power for no end but to glorify themselves
and then flee from responsibility when that power is needed.
We must all every day become builders, every day we repair a house collapsing.
To build for me, now... the faceless, needless dead... this gargoyle
is an empty afterthought.
But this semblance of complete destruction or of vitality
- they are but the echo of these movements. The alleged destruction of these bodies indicates only a difference of degree.