Hello.
Good evening and welcome back
This is tonight’s program
The air is ripe
Ripe with social abundance
And whimsical latte grooves
A warmth in the air
It caresses your body, this warmth
It walks by your side, this warmth
It’s there holding your hand
Knowing that you’re alone
Because this isn’t the same warmth of a
person’s hand
But this comfort, this invisible hand, this invisible other
Is the warmth of the free midnight air
The city lights: fluorescent metal plants with flashing neon insects and prowling jungle dwellers
The soft ambient jazz that plays from the dripping rain.
Giving your life the harmony of passion
The melody of joy
But with the rhythms of melancholy
A lone phrase that passes by each composition
Your world goes black and white
Full becomes hollow
Radiant becomes dull
Trust becomes deception
Love becomes hate
Life becomes death
The rain intensifies with translucent color
Reflecting the street illumination of grandeur
and sensual subtlety
Urban poetry doused by mythic ambition
Perplexing the eyes of the unknowing artist
Raising the half full glass to the half empty person
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear
You are that much closer to your reflective self
The part of you that will never leave the gaze of reflective surfaces
There when you look away from your noon time coffee on the café window
There when your mind wonders away from your spouses’ arguing; the mirror behind them
There on the puddles on the asphalt and street corners, asking you with voiceless faces
‘Where are you now?”
“Is this the dream of God subconscious?”
“Is God asleep? Is this all just a dream of something bigger than us/’
Having a conversation with your reflection can turn out to be quite enlightening.
This program is brought to you by the following sponsors; Oatmeal, tea leaves, voiceover actors, large print books, Lucretius, Bill Shakespeare, handmade leather wallets, chocolate kisses, long hair, motorcycles, Frank Gambale, Daft Punk, Martin Scorsese, Goya, Kevin Smith, Evan Rachel Wood, Jones Soda, Cappuccinos and all the little people (excluding mole people…they know why.)
Please swing by again.
Not really a poem, but a writing exercise I developed. I treat it as monologue directed to an unknown audience/reader. Check out the other entries in this series, all of which our motifs for my next book. Reactions and comments are advocated.