White
Stone - Day 33
Mention of Rome
brings into memory energy of concrete.
As such, the
inventors or perfecters of the concrete thing that built an empire, the
concrete thing is being assembled somewhere in the future.
In fact slabs of
white concrete are being attached to some steel frame.
I step back and
see an obelisk like structure thirty to forty feet high being constructed on the
Fresh Kills Landfill.
It is my, our
tombstone, that exists nowhere else for some.
In a way, what
is left of the trash of generations of New Yorkers is also now considered
sacred hallowed ground.
They are
painting the concrete with a phosphorous based paint. The obelisk will glow at night with a little
help of some light.
There are no
names carved here. This is a monument to all the unknown souls who perished
that day 911.
Friends,
relatives, historians are invited to paint and add graffiti to the base of the
monument up to ten feet.
The other twenty
to thirty feet of the monolith will be seen from the nearby highway and also by
some planes landing day or night at Newark.
It is a
gravestone of sorts on the physical parts of me.
Body gone, at
rest in sight of white stone. The image
that has haunted me is in focus.
On the body
thing – finally some closure.
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