The Pacific Design Center

Place Poem, The Pacific Design Center

Place Poem


A man fell
to his death. “Likely
suicide,” they said, as if
he tripped, dropped off
eleven floors by accident or
saw his widow place her
hands over her ears to block
out the possibility of “on purpose.”
130 showrooms –
furniture, decorating materials –
top interior design.
Post-Oscar parties,
multi-million dollar fundraisers,
a branch of MOCA,
two restaurants by Wolfgang Puck:
all inside, please come inside,
where it’s likely suicide.
Outside, the building gleams waves
of sapphires in the sunlight,
an ocean without depth surrounded
by fishy businessmen and the L.A. rush,
bosses expecting more than nine to five,
suits on cells being asked
to reach nothing less than great heights
they likely will fall from.




Image Curve’s Manifesto


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