The tyranny of doors swung shut and bolted 

   Against a knock or the scratching darkness 

      Has ended with these breaks in your walls 

Where anything may leave or enter

   As the moon and the wind decide. The ceiling 

      Has settled comfortably across the floor;

The stairways have faltered

   Like waterfalls whose careless water 

      Is falling as far as all split-level living 

To its logical conclusion in rubble.

Lean at a window now and feel no longing 

   For all that lay out of reach: it will reach you 

      Simply, uncalled-for, here in this open season, 

   And you must take what comes to your windowsill 

To make itself at home, while broken glass 

                             Blooms where the iris was.

What happens naturally is the advent of moss 

   Turning these stones to sand, establishing 

      The separation of powers with its rootless searching.

You have nothing to be coveted but your life:

   Tending a fire to make your share of the weather 

And living in these ruins to reconnoitre

        Your strangest neighbor: night falling around you.

[Living in the Ruins, David Wagoner]

AUTHOR’s NOTE:

I collect various pieces I find on the street, in my basement, in the 50 cent isle at my local scrap supply, and when all else fails, through Home Depot or Amazon.

Some of my works are made from unique items, and are not replicable. Others I very well could replicate, but choose not to, or do so while still incorporating discrepancies between the products. 

I encourage you to commission me with ideas and requests. Prices will vary depending on the cost of the material and the difficulty of the build; aside from this there are no limits on size, weight, or feasibility of your concepts: I will try my best.