Glenn Bach

The coming resort of the world among acres of sloughs and salt 

Marked in turn, these patterns of expansion manifest in the fissures 
of asphalt, second city in the shadows of contagious energy. 

Judges of the plain run through the mustard, lost in the shade 
of sycamore, live oak, and brown burr clover. 

Horizon of red tile roofs between the high tide line and the base
of the foothills, the first flush of enthusiasm for charming 
bungalows throughout the city. 

Downhill flowed a river through a stand of little cottonwoods in Los 
Alamitos, shifts of cargo on the far coast among trees of the little 

Who made giant leaps across this desert plain of air filled 
with blooms and dust.
114,901 acres, 79%
images from the inferno the circle
which passes through the feet of
altitudes of a given triangle we’ll
see how it maintains I was grateful
to have masks at hand #wildfires
are a process I think it may be
trying to mimic a dragon thick with
dry brittle tinder why I call areas
like that a sweet spot better weather
won’t keep California from grim
landmark the full moon is shining
down there’s a smoky haze nestling
it’s the #lastgasp does not want to
go away! ash was coming down yep
an impressive plume this place and
its creatures

114,963 acres, 84%
we used to hike there that smoke
is the transformed carbon of pines
and oaks now we breathe and it
hurts of smoldering where heat
exists within existing footprint
as a dense internal island of fuel
burns the same footprint as the
1957 Gale Fire this is the final
map I looked up and saw amber


Glenn Bach is a sound artist and poet who lives and works in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. His major project, Atlas (from which the above pieces are taken), is a long poem about place and our (mis)understanding of the world. Excerpts have appeared in jubilat, Otoliths, Plumwood Mountain and others.

Glenn Bach’s Website

Twitter: @AtlasCorpus