July Matinee
Tuck into the public
private seclusion.
My aversion to inclusion
includes a stub, a tub,
a carelessly careful curation,
a velvet rope, a hint of hope,
a folding chair, softened and stickied
by foam and frothing soda spills.
A not soundless though talkless time.
My not soundless though talkless time.
My time oh my oh mine.
A excusal from excess tides:
the comings-and-goings of
give-and-takes that
never slakes my hermit needs.
Let me receive, no give-backs,
Just sit and accept. You do the warp and woof
You spin the yarn and weave the world.
Carpet halls and carpeted walls
lead me to a time lapse apse
a time and space machine
Take me anywhere
but
leave me here.
The lights come up-
Why do they come up, if
the rays pierce unwelcomingly this
Dark...oh this dark...a respite of shadow,
a veil of sightless cool, a shared shadow
Where was I? Oh, yes...the dark
I am drawn to her like a moth to the...
Never mind. Ok, where was I?
Distracted from my vocation distraction.
Ah yes.
The lightrays roll up, fall short of falling.
Soon enough. Not soon enough and yet but
although they do...soon enough that is.
Fail to find me, dim, and disappear into
the recesses of the ceaseless and recessless
plain plane of acoustical tile.
I exhale, return this borrowed breath.
Sink into my seat.
Sync into my mind.
I settle.
The next breath borrowed won't long be mine.
It's movie time!
The projector clickets and clackets.
The reel spins its racket
on wobbly sprocket
while spinning its tales.
The light is colored, uneven:
A rainbow, trapped in a kaleidoscope,
on a merry-go-round-and-round-and-round.
Cinematic komorebi; cellulose is
cellulose. (or close, I guess.) It's
unsteadily carrying sounds on its
un-there shoulders, throwing both at
a screen I cannot see.
I look square at it.
For hours.
Unobstructed, I stare.
And fail to see a screen.
Replaced as it is, there in the dark,
here in the dark, by bouncebacking
Weightless and waitless. Instant hinting, glinting.
The projecter pitches sound and fury
In a flickering circus of activity
It's throwing nothings in a palette parade,
a whatever-the-opposite-of-a-library-is of
Sounds...music, words, foley frenzy
Launched unemotionally and yet maddeningly at
A silent invisible visible screen
The thrum and flicker,
the Summer light.
The rising heat,
humidity,
career, bills. Pick-up-milk.
Forgot.
The Candy Unwrapper, two rows down.
My sore rib.
All gone.
A story unfolds...
A story of a girl...
I am lost...
All is lost.
Only a story...
Only a girl.
Only
This
Girl.
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