how could You know
as You are walking down the sidewalk
around a corner wherever You want
that the world is not assembling itself
atom by sticky atom
from the blueprints
piled in piles (like so many piles of newspaper)
in (the rooms in) the back rooms of Your mind
particles rushing and streaming, fluttering
together with the ebb of Your consciousness?
-
the World blurs fuzzily into shape
before snapping
(snappily)
into focus
just as You enter the room
blending pixilated reality smoothly
into an orchestrated Existence
-
the next time You reach
for the doorknob on
the door to
the waiting room
-
give
pause
listen
carefully
-
can’t You hear the anxious atoms
scraping
sliding
shoving past each other?
-
they jockey
jumping into
the eye of
the image of
the woman on
the screen of
the television in
the corner of
the ceiling where
it hangs
-
she wants to know
why we divide
Them from Us
-
so clearly
so readily
-
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
by an indifference to equality
by a contempt for disillusionment
-
A dispute broke out between two
atoms on the table this morning;
a tiny china teapot was broken.
-
how would You know?
people are no more
then elaborate pieces of Your own mind
now once You hang up the phone
e v a p o r a t e d
into no more than
an afterthought
of empty space
-
the smell of burnt matches
- -
You think that
everything You imagine is beautiful
even death
-
but in an ugly way
- -
the man on the
edge
of the third chair
from the door
has no face
(none of Them do)
all of Them don’t
(have faces)
-
until They speak or You look Them in the eye
-
until They do something Wrong
which is why They look down
when They walk down the sidewalk
-
They are afraid
-
to live
as a tree
in the park
-
where a pillar of
angry
energy
falling
failing
the
pessimistic
sky
might strike
Them
(older than You
yet born
just this moment)
making the ground
around
Them steam
with the sweat
of a silent room
waiting
for the
door to
swing open
and tell
him
- -
she’s going to be all right
it was close there for a while
but she’s strong
she pulled through
-
in the end
- -
the pressure
of the years
of the rings
(which promise to
grow tighter
as time leaves us)
is heated
squeezed
left sitting in
flesh
turned to char
ash and smoke gently
cradling a tiny newborn
diamond
-
perfect (silence)
-
broken
down the middle-
aged
flawed
- -
You should be perfect by now
You should have a face by now
-
speak look Yourself in the eye
-
see Your own Face
stop looking down
when You walk down the sidewalk
-
don’t be afraid
-
to live
as a tree
in the park
- -
They say don’t talk to strangers
and You’re a strange one indeed
how can You see the glamour
where Others cannot
see that laughing quietly to themselves
can (You) set the expressions on their faces
to joy
to pain
to fear
to apathy
to peace?
-
yeah, she likes him
and she likes him
to know
that she likes him
-
in the end
- -
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
to keep Them out
and Us in
- -
this is Mine and that is Yours
- -
You see
what You want to see (without)
-
(knowing what You want)
the sticker
on the bumper
of the car
rolling past reads:
“jesus is coming,
hide the ****”
- -
in its green lettering
and its largely silent voice
-
if You listen carefully
You can almost hear Them
- -
giggling
- -
please do not think about green elephants
- -
(a student just snuck in
and sat down as
the professor was writing
on the board)
- -
please do not feed the green elephants
- -
I
Myself
have a strong suspicion
that Your mind is
as You read this
(hidden in a carefully cupped notebook)
spilling
black ink particles into
existence
on the very next page
- -
You write that
You imagine everything is beautiful
except for death
-
it is an ugly thing
-
yet still the chisel gouges
- -
“i whistle a catcall
at my blushing bride”
llac ot eltsihw i”
“edis ym ot god ym
- -
through the crumbling protests
of the reluctant stone
- -
each new line
tampers with space
holds suspect time
postpones the end
and evades death
- -
You breathe
You write
You sing
You live
-
You casually craft causality
- -
yet craft on
surely You are not yet done
You may never be
at this rate but
but
STOP
- -
the World reblurs then blows away
listen closely here I say
all things must come to end one day
- -
You
Yourself
have tasted the hunger
of Greed
seen the wealth
of Hatred
heard the stories
of Genocide
felt the loss
of War
and smelled the decay
of Truth
- -
this is Mine
what’s Mine, is Yours...
This poem was originally inspired by the Russell's Teapot analogy.