montreal’s biggest problem is that there isn’t enough space to store all the orange cones. consequently, the city is forced to be in a perpetual zone of construction.
the people of montreal dream in orange cone, recounting the times they accidently hit feral tangerine or were forced another route due to a large pile up of cylinders.
to fit in, most have taken to wearing plaid of neon and reflecting.
the issue worsens in that the prevalence of construction cones is so great that they are disregarded and the city was forced to buy new ones that have more significance. violet striped cones are trumping the old fashioned orange and white. the disregard for old cones and reverence for the brighter, bolder cones has significantly increased the coneage in the city.
in montreal, we are all suffering from construction tremors.
Discovered in the attic of a grandfather house.
it has slowly decomposed allowing the feather to reveal
the fleshy straw of its innards, much like a vulture.
A few wires cage its fragility though it is paraded about town in the passenger seat of a car.
I had been warned not to look into its eyes; I dared and I saw their glassy truth.