peeple
People with their peephole eyes
walking, maybe wandering, maybe
wondering what they are doing
wading in existential terror
padded against other people,
propelling themselves through
ponds of pond scum, not dirty,
though, ready for dinner,
paying with dinars, or not knowing
what a dinar is, maybe waiting
in line at the diner, watching
the waitress, not talking, waiting,
wading through bacon fat and
getting hot, maybe bothered
though probably not. Stopped at
the guessing part, that's the part
that really bothers people. Totally
unsafe. Light, pressing
against the window's pane, paining
to get in and touch, in-touch with
someone. "Interrupt," I dare the light.
"You'll get your arm chopped off."
It lightens up and a smile breaks,
"I don't have arms." The motherlight
lighter than the others, lights up the room.
Until, like lit candles, one by one by one
they're blown out into oblivion. Pushed away
through the brilliance of peepholes
and people, and their brilliant ideas, all
ideating away into oblivion, ambivalently
it never happened, or isn't happening,
just make something happen, as long
as it doesn't happen all over me.
Age old, and well aged, agitated and aggravating
but with tasty pride all dripping
and smearing the windshield, it's tan,
rancid prided meat juice, a pride of
lions licking it up and walking away.
The boring boring it's way through
heads like a wood-boar thinking
it's an ostrich stretching its
head into the dusty ground. Sanding
away a tree with it's antlers making
the sandy bits dust the ground.
Imagine imagination without image.
What would be left? Some sort of
immaculate imaging left in shaded
lines.. it's art, Arthur. Art thou impressed?
Playfully we jest and kid, like goat-children,
playing gleefully on the plane in plain view of
plain old Jane. She looks like she needs
the light to shine on her. I yell, IT'S OKAY!
JUST HOLD ON A LITTLE LONGER!
YOU'LL MAKE IT!
She looks out, gaze stretching over the
great-planes of America, the and tells me
that her grip is slipping. She can't stand it
and something is pinning her, no standing
ovation, in fact, all the stands are empty.
No one is even watching. So she finds,
her findings based on intense, reflection
of quantum light through mirrors, mirroring
her lightened face, all lit up, it's up to her.
Alone, but amongst people, to figure all those
rapturous figures of presents wrapped
in her presence in the present, it's up to her
to figure out what's inside, next to the wall siding,
sliding down the the slate roofs and slatted
shutters. Everything is open, nothing is shut.