In the house [] of the city
are many buildings.
Among machines
they least resemble hives
or algal colonies.

Their edges have evolved
the close tolerances of flocks
blinking as they twist
in the window of an analytical engine, []
where nothing
signifies something.

The voids between
own the vertigo of buildings.

Voids question
the many levels stacked
beyond our reach

multiplying sunlight
by the crystal faces
turned away and to each other.
Aspiration ratchets up

the empty angles [] of morning.

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