Marshfield Way

deep wound cuts diagonally,

easily seen from above in an aerial shot,

across this overly nicknamed cityscape.

part ghost, part parking lot, part alleyway,

just disappears on google street.

similar to the four silvery ladies of art deco

in this city worth fighting for,

it has left its semi permanent mark

on urban speculation, architectural conjecture,

and landscape futures.

an easement that shapes her bedroom

where hangs a priceless piece

depicting houses of parliament. at sunset

she opens her voyeuristic french doors,

eyeing the slash of cleaved buildings

that bubble up covering the void like scar tissue.

from Hollywood and La Brea to Ogden street,

they line up like rail cars. perhaps a river marsh,

reminiscing of many things that could have been.

every city has these deeper wounds.

to think she had masterminded such removal,

recreated beauty in this negative space.

remembering conceptions at the Barbican

its shape carved inside a former WWII crater,

a first introduction left another mark from that art show.

ghost appear out of nowhere to take architectural form,

another urban injury that became a property line.

there below... he floats face down in that incision

that was her lovers lap pool cut from Marshfield Way.