CHINA (architecture) There is a bridge, as you whisper across, the fibers of the construction chant,
“way down upon the Swany river.” These messenger voices, ancient as the river itself,
a siren begging you to “swim in my stream”… There is madness in this presentation,
this bridge with no ending, a song with no beginning…I cannot figure out the codes, maybe there are none.
As a signifier it is oblivious, yet present..

I am naked and without the usual armor, the daily activities that contrive the imagination..
The whisper of the bridge still pulls… even as you feel to resist… is this then a perfect place,
because it is without body, without scope…

The bridge pulls you deeper into the sway, the sleepers presence is awakened to the whistle…
the flute curls the wind and a cyclone is born… all now in the path is prey,
sorted out in emergent little pieces… it is the Disaster in full bloom.
Yet it is bloom and singing… you have only traveled a few paces..a life time..

I cannot get out of in here. I am inside out of thereIt is still the whisper…
So simple if the bridge would not cross the river… So elegant if you stay on the bank
and never think of crossing. The eye follows the skipping stone across…. the splashes,
the ripples are more then you need bear… This bridge is made of China

Randy Naylor june 02