Buckminster Fuller runs out in his nightie,
bespectered by Shelley with lines to recite. He
suddenly stops.
His thoughtbubblehouse pops.
He has gotten no further than MY WORKS! YE MIGHTY—
Poof. Then the radiant city’s magician
whose mantra is pat and whose man is patrician.
And my latest theory,
says Le Corbourgeoisie,
is that buildings unbuilt will escape demolition.
Gropius nods. For what Gropius knows is
Avenue Cs get divided by Moses,
ill-laid plans
of Mieses and mans,
or S. chartarum mycotoxicosis.
Frederick John Kiesler climbs meta and meta-er
out of this world into one better, a
construction of nous
before he cuts loose
in search of the shadowy Endless Etcetera.
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