Our Architecture

Panorama wide open horizon of burning skin pink and brown and swaying this way forever against the shore. Silhouette black as dogs of the thin bone of a steel forearm rusted up high against wisps of twilit days past, and I wonder. I wonder how easy that bone breaks, wonder how many stories it builds concrete rib cage where you look some day from the window. But the color is behind you now, you look east now, and you can't go back there because nobody looks at paintings anymore and someone told you that one day and you wanted to shove your knuckles through every canvas just to stand back and take the hole with you. Wherever you go, wherever you end up, wherever we set down our architecture. That's where the touch is reaching and what's really beautiful is the way the sun never sets against your pupils like that's where it used to be. That's where the touch is reaching and that's where the dirt roads all lead every dirt road if you follow long enough, wherever you go, wherever you end up, wherever we set down.