Squares stacked
on top of squares
Glass floors reveal the unworn soles of the performers
as they walk and talk and walk and talk.
Moving in circles, never up.
Down in the guts, a white spotless lobby
Holding a ticket whose expiration looms in the periphery.
Sound moves through the striated space,
unevenly like rubber arrows failing to connect,
swooshing into silence.
Put on the glasses,
select filter, structural information.
Digits stream past in torrents, illuminating hidden dimensions.
Displays the tensile strength of that load bearing beam,
directly above your head.
Switch the filter to retrograde.
Wood replaces steel,
back in the Jago.
Brown, yellow, red.
The suits look absurd.
