The journey back to the Edgelands is hard to make with money in your pocket. You can get there by bus but taxis won't go there. I had lost my way, neglected the Edgelands. It was were I began.
I hadn't thought that I would miss the Edgelands. I thought upward mobility could carry a background party with it. Yet each step I took was one away from home.
The Edgelands is not just a real place but a place of the mind too, where ideas, long neglected rot and rust, burnt out cars, fractured childrens toys, sofas sodden limp like corpses in a state of partial decomposition, all things are halfway returned to the earth.
discarded, neglected, forgotten ideas dissolve back to mush
ambitious settees in black frogskin
and minibars missing the castors, the catalogues
turning to mush, the unmanageable objects
that used to be something, with knobs on
and now they live here, by the siding, the fishhouse
the building whose function is no longer known
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